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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


UPON  THE  TREE-TOPS 


BY 

OLIVE  THORNE  MILLER 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  J.  CARTER  BEARD 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 
(Stw  RrtJewtdc  pn#*, 
1898 


Copyright,  1897, 
BY  H.   M.  MILLER. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


(,71, 


Do  you  ne'er  think  what  wondrous  beings  these, 
Whose  household  words  are  songs  in  many  keys, 
Whose  habitations  on  the  tree-tops  even 
Are  half-way  houses  on  the  road  to  heaven  ? 

LONGFELLOW. 


INTRODUCTORY. 

IN  the  beginning  of  my  study  of  bird  life, 
when  I  had  a  bird-room  for  close  observation, 
I  was  interested  to  see  that  our  little  neighbors 
in  feathers  possess  as  much  individuality  of 
character  as  ourselves,  and  in  Chapters  XII. 
and  XIII.  of  this  volume  I  offer  two  studies 
of  that  period,  illustrative  of  the  point. 

Thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  Frederic  A.  Ober 
for  the  use  of  his  notes  on  one  of  the  soli- 
taires, embodied  in  Chapter  XII.,  and  to  the 
Godey  Company  for  permission  to  reproduce 
two  shrike  pictures. 

I  wish  also  to  give  credit  to  my  daughter, 
Mary  Mann  Miller,  for  the  minute  and  con- 
scientious collection  of  the  facts  recorded  in 
Chapters  V.  and  VI.,  which  for  convenience 
are  related  as  if  they  were  my  own  observations. 
OLIVE  THORNE  MILLER. 


CONTENTS. 


UPON  THE  TREE-TOPS. 

I.  TRAMPS  WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST 3 

Hermit  Thrush.     Turdus  aonalaschkce  pallasii. 

American  Crow.     Corvus  Americanus. 

Sandpiper. 

Wilson's  Thrush.     Turdus  fuscescens. 

Oven-bird.     Seiurus  aurocapillus. 

Wood  Thrush.     Turdus  mustelinus. 

Olive-sided  Flycatcher.     Contopus  borealis. 

Golden-winged  Woodpecker.     Colaptes  auratus. 

Rose-breasted  Grosbeak.     Habia  ludoviciana. 

Cow  Bunting.     Molothrus  ater. 

White-throated  Sparrow.     Zonotrichia  albicollis. 

Black  -  throated     Green   Warbler.       Dendroica 
virens. 

American  Robin.     MertUa  migratoria. 

Song  Sparrow.     Melospiza  fasciata. 

House  Wren.     Troglodytes  cedon. 

Bobolink.     Dolichonyx  oryzivorus. 

Meadow  Lark.     Sturnella  magna. 

Eave  Swallow.     Petrochelidon  lunifrons. 

Phoebe.     Sayornis  phcebe. 

Shrike.     Lanius  ludovicianus. 
II.  A  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER 35 

Red-headed  Woodpecker.     Melanerpes  erythroce- 
phalus. 

Shrike.     Lanius  ludovicianus. 
III.  A  THORN-TREE  NEST 45 

Shrike.     Lanius  ludovicianus. 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

Golden-winged  Woodpecker.     Colaptes  auratus. 

Least  Flycatcher.     Empidonax  minimus. 

Yellow-billed  Cuckoo.     Coccyzus  Americanus. 
IV.  THE  WITCHING  WHEN 72 

Winter  Wren.     Troglodytes  hiemalis. 

Chipping1  Sparrow.     Rpizella  socialis. 
V.  WHIMSICAL  WAYS  IN  BIRD-LAND 88 

Yellow-breasted  Chat.     Icteria  virens. 
VI.  THE  "  BIKD  OF  THE  MUSICAL  WING  " 103 

Ruby-throated   Hummingbird.      Trochilus   colu- 

bris. 
VII.  MY  LADY  IN  GREEN 121 

Ruby-throated   Hummingbird.       Trochilus   colu- 

bris. 
VIII.  YOUNG  AMERICA  IN  FEATHERS 141 

Maryland  Yellow-throat.     Geotklypis  trichus. 

Thrasher.     Harporhynchus  rufus. 

Baltimore  Oriole.     Icterus  galbula. 

Catbird.     Galeoscoptes  Carolinensis. 

Red-eyed  Vireo.     Vireo  olivaceus. 

American  Crow.     Corvus  Americanus. 

Wilson's  Thrush.     Turdus  fuscescens. 

Towhee  Bunting.     Pipilo  erythrophthalmus. 
IX.  DOWN  THE  MEADOW 163 

Golden-winged  Woodpecker.     Colaptes  auratus. 

Red-winged  Blackbird.     Agelaius phaenicens. 

Bluebird.     Sialia  sialis. 

Vesper  Sparrow.     Poocaetes  gramiyeus. 

Eave  Swallow.     Petrochelidon  lunifrons. 

Tree  Swallow.     Tachycineta  bicolor. 
X.  IN  A  COLORADO  NOOK 177 

Summer  Yellow-bird.     Dendroica  cestiva. 

Western  Chewink.     Pipilo  maculatus  articus. 

Arkansas  Goldfinch.     Spinus  psaltria. 

Maryland  Yellow-throat.     Geothlypis  trichus. 

House  Wren.     Troglodytes  cedon. 

Red-shafted  Flicker.      Colaptes  cafer. 

Western  Meadow  Lark.    Sturnella  magna  neglecta. 


CONTENTS.  IX 

XI.  THE  IDYL  OF  AN  EMPTY  LOT 192 

Night  Hawk.     Chordeiles  virginianus. 

English  Sparrow.     Passer  domesticus. 

Thrasher.     Harporhynchus  rufus. 

Junco.     Junco  hyemalis. 

White-throat  Sparrow.     Zonotrickia  albicollis. 

Ruby -crowned  Kinglet.     Begulus  calendula. 

Hermit  Thrush.     Turdus  aonalaschlcce  pallasii. 

IN  THE  BIRD-ROOM. 

XII.  THE  SOLITAIRE 205 

Clarin.     Myadestes  obscurus. 

Blue  Jay.     Cyanocitta  cristata. 

Brazilian  Cardinal. 

Mountain  Whistler.     Siffleur  montagne. 

Trembleur. 

Townsend's    Fly-catching     Thrush.     Myadestes 

Townsendii. 

XIII.  INCOMPATIBILITY  IN  THE  ORIOLE  FAMILY    .    .    .227 
Orchard  Oriole.     Icterus  spurious. 
Baltimore  Oriole.     Icterus  galbula. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTKATIONS. 


THE  SHRIKE. 

The  tug  of  war  (page  38) Frontispiece. 

THE  HERMIT  THRUSH. 

Singing  his  way  down  to  us 8 

THE  SHRIKE. 

Babies  in  gray 36 

THE  WINTER  WREN. 

Cuddled  up  together  on  a  log 86 

THE  YELLOW-BREASTED  CHAT. 

Love-making 98 

RUBY-THROATED  HUMMINGBIRD. 

The  nest  with  my  lady  upon  it 110 

THE  BALTIMORE  ORIOLE. 

Feeding  the  baby 160 

THE  GOLDEN-WINGED  WOODPECKER. 

Taking  breakfast 164 

SOLITAIRE  AND  BLUE  JAY. 

Studying  the  blue  jay 216 

THE  ORCHARD  ORIOLE. 

The  enemy  in  the  glass 230 


UPON  THE   TREE-TOPS. 


UPON  THE  TREE-TOPS. 
I. 

TRAMPS    WITH    AN    ENTHUSIAST. 

To  a  brain  wearied  by  the  din  of  the  city, 
the  clatter  of  wheels,  the  jingle  of  street  cars, 
the  discord  of  bells,  the  cries  of  venders,  the 
ear-splitting  whistles  of  factory  and  shop,  how 
refreshing  is  the  heavenly  stillness  of  the  coun- 
try! To  the  soul  tortured  by  the  sight  of  ills 
it  cannot  cure,  wrongs  it  cannot  right,  and  suf- 
ferings it  cannot  relieve,  how  blessed  to  be  alone 
with  nature,  with  trees  living  free,  unfettered 
lives,  and  flowers  content  each  in  its  native  spot, 
with  brooks  singing  of  joy  and  good  cheer,  with 
mountains  preaching  divine  peace  and  rest ! 

Thus  musing  one  evening,  soon  after  my  ar- 
rival at  a  lone  farmhouse  in  the  heart  of  the 
Green  Mountains,  I  seated  myself  at  the  window 
to  make  acquaintance  with  my  neighbors.  Not 
the  human ;  I  wished  for  a  time  to  turn  away 
from  the  world  of  people,  to  find  rest  and  recrea- 
tion in  the  world  outside  the  walls  of  houses. 

My  room  was  a  wing  lately  added  to  the  side 


4  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

of  the  cottage  farthest  from  the  life  that  went 
on  in  it,  from  the  kitchen  and  dairy,  from  the 
sight  of  barns  and  henhouses.  It  was,  conse- 
quently, as  solitary  as  it  could  be,  and  yet  retain 
a  slight  hold  upon  humanity.  It  was  connected 
with  the  family  and  farm  life  by  two  doors, 
which  I  could  shut  at  will,  and  be  alone  with 
nature,  and  especially  with  the  beloved  birds. 

From  my  window  I  looked  upon  a  wide  view 
over  the  road  and  the  green  fields,  and  across 
the  river  to  a  lovely  range  of  the  Green  Moun- 
tains, with  one  of  the  highest  peaks  in  the  State 
as  a  crown.  Close  at  hand  was  a  bank,  the 
beginning  of  a  mountain  spur.  It  was  covered 
from  the  road  up  with  clumps  of  fresh  green 
ferns  and  a  few  young  trees,  —  a  maple  or  two, 
half  a  dozen  graceful  young  hemlocks,  and 
others. 

The  top  of  the  bank,  about  as  high  as  my 
window,  was  thick  with  daisy  buds,  which  I  had 
caught  that  day  beginning  to  open  their  eyes, 
sleepily,  one  lash  at  a  time ;  and  on  looking 
closely  I  saw  ranks  of  them  still  asleep,  each 
yellow  eye  carefully  covered  with  its  snow-white 
fringes.  When  the  blossoms  were  fully  opened, 
a  few  days  later,  my  point  of  view  —  on  a  level 
—  made  even 

"  The  daisy's  frill  a  wondrous  newness  wear ;  ' ' 

for  I  saw  only  the  edges  of   the   flower  faces 


FROM   THE    WINDOW.  5 

turned  to  the  sky,  while  the  stems  were  visible 
down  to  the  ground,  and  formed  a  Lilliputian 
forest  in  which  it  were  easy  to  imagine  tiny  crea- 
tures spending  days  as  secluded  and  as  happy 
as  I  enjoyed  in  my  forest  of  beech  and  birch 
and  maple,  which  came  down  to  the  very  back 
steps  of  the  house. 

On  the  evening  when  my  story  begins,  early 
in  June,  I  was  sitting,  as  I  said,  at  my  window, 
listening  to  the  good-night  songs  of  the  earlier 
birds,  enjoying  the  view  of  woods  and  moun- 
tains, and  waiting  till  tea  should  be  over  before 
taking  my  usual  evening  walk.  I  had  fallen 
into  a  reverie,  when  I  was  aroused  by  the  sound 
of  wheels,  and  in  a  moment  a  horse  appeared, 
trotting  rapidly  up  the  little  hill.  In  his  wake 
was  a  face.  There  was  of  course  a  body  also, 
and  some  sort  of  a  vehicle,  but  neither  of  them 
did  I  see  ;  only  a  pair  of  eager,  questioning 
eyes,  and  an  intelligent  countenance  framed  in 
snow-white  curls  which  streamed  back  upon 
the  wind,  —  a  picture,  a  vision,  I  shall  never 
forget. 

I  recognized  at  once  my  Enthusiast,  a  dear 
friend  and  fellow  bird-lover,  who  I  knew  was 
coming  to  spend  some  weeks  in  the  village.  I 
rushed  to  the  door  to  greet  her. 

"  I  'm  delighted  to  see  you  !  "  she  cried,  as  we 
clasped  hands  across  the  wheels.  "  I  arrived  an 


6  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

hour  or  two  ago,  and  now  I  want  to  go  where 
I  can  hear  a  hermit  thrush.  I  've  come  all  the 
way  from  Chicago  to  hear  that  bird." 

She  dismounted,  declined  the  invitation  to  tea 
given  by  my  hostess,  who  stood  speechless  with 
amazement  at  the  erratic  taste  that  would  forego 
tea  for  the  sake  of  a  bird  song,  and  we  started 
at  once  up  the  road,  where  I  had  seen  the  bird 
perched  in  a  partially  dead  hemlock-tree,  and 
heard 

"  his  ravishing  carol  ring 
From  the  topmost  twig  he  made  his  throne." 

Everything  was  perfectly  still.  Not  a  bird 
peeped.  Even  the  tireless  vireo,  who  peopled 
the  woods  as  the  English  sparrow  the  city 
streets,  was  hushed.  I  began  to  be  anxious ; 
could  it  be  too  cool  for  song  ?  or  too  late  ?  We 
walked  steadily  on,  up  the  beautiful  winding 
road :  on  one  side  dense  forest,  on  the  other 
lovely  changing  views  of  the  hills  across  the 
intervale,  blue  now  with  approaching  night. 
Crows  called  as  they  hurried  over;  the  little 
sandpiper's  "  ah  weet !  weet !  weet !  "  came  up 
from  the  river  bank,  but  in  the  woods  all  was 
silent. 

Still  we  went  on,  climbing  the  steep  hills, 
loitering  through  the  valleys,  till  suddenly  a 
bird  note  broke  the  stillness,  quite  near  us,  a 
low,  yearning  "  wee-o !  " 


THE    WONDERFUL   SONG.  7 

"  The  veery !  "  I  whispered. 

"  Is  that  the  veery  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  (She 
had  come  from  the  home  of  the  wood  thrush, 
where  hermit  and  veery  were  unknown.) 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  listen." 

Again  it  came,  more  plaintive  than  before; 
once  more,  in  an  almost  agonized  tone ;  and  so 
it  continued,  ever  growing  higher  in  pitch  and 
more  mournful,  till  we  could  hardly  endure  to 
listen  to  it.  Then  arose  the  matchless  song, 
the  very  breath  of  the  woods,  the  solemn,  mys- 
terious, wonderful  song  of  the  bird,  and  two 
listeners,  at  least,  lingered  in  ecstasy  to  hear, 
till  it  dropped  to  silence  again. 

Then,  slowly  and  leisurely,  we  went  on.  The 
dead  hemlock,  the  throne  of  the  hermit,  was 
vacant.  On  a  bank  not  far  off  we  sat  down 
to  wait,  talking  in  hushed  tones  of  the  veery,  of 
the  oven-bird  whose  rattling  call  was  now  just 
beginning,  of  the  mysterious  "  see-here "  bird 
whose  plaintive  call  was  sounding  from  the 
upper  twig  of  another  dead-topped  tree,  of  the 
hermit  himself,  when,  to  our  amazement,  a  small 
bird  soared  out  of  the  woods,  a  few  feet  above 
our  heads,  flew  around  in  a  circle  of  perhaps  fif- 
teen feet  in  the  air,  and  plunged  again  into  the 
trees,  singing  all  the  time  a  rapturous,  thrilling 
song,  bewitching  both  in  manner  and  in  tone. 

"  The  oven-bird  !  "  we  exclaimed  in  a  breath. 


8  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

That  made  our  walk  noteworthy.  We  should 
not  regret,  even  if  the  hermit  refused  to  bless  us. 

Silently  on  up  the  road  we  passed,  till  the 
deepening  shadows  reminded  us  of  the  hour  and 
the  long  drive  before  my  friend,  and  we  turned 
back.  By  this  time  the  sun  had  set,  and  the 
sky  was  filled  with  gorgeous  rosy  clouds  floating 
above  the  richest  red-purple  of  the  mountains. 
This  surely  crowned  our  walk. 

We  were  sauntering  homeward,  lingering, 
waiting,  we  hardly  knew  for  what,  since  we  had 
given  up  the  hermit,  when  a  single  bird  note 
arrested  me.  Then,  as  his  first  rich  clause  fell 
upon  the  air,  I  turned  to  my  companion,  who 
was  a  few  steps  behind  me.  She  stood  motion- 
less, both  hands  raised,  but  dumb. 

"  Glorious  !  "  she  whispered  when  she  recov- 
ered her  voice.  "  Wonderful !  "  she  added,  as 
he  warmed  into  fuller  song. 

Quietly  drawing  as  near  as  we  dared,  we 
dropped  upon  the  bank  and  listened  in  spell- 
bound silence  to  our  unseen  melodist.  Slow, 
rapturous,  entrancing  was  his  song  ;  and  when  it 
ended  we  came  reluctantly  back  to  earth,  stole 
in  the  growing  darkness  down  to  the  farm,  and 
my  friend  resumed  her  place  in  the  carriage 
and  drove  away,  saying  with  her  good-by,  "  I 
am  already  paid  for  my  long  journey." 

Yet  after  the  first  surprise  and  wonder  were 


SINGING    HIS    WAY    DOWN    'TO    I'S  —  THE    HERMIT    THRUSH 


STUDY   OF   THE  HERMIT'S   SONG.  9 

over,  she  swung  loyally  back  to  her  first  love, 
the  wood  thrush,  of  whose  sublime  voice  she 
says,  "  The  first  solemn  opening  note  transports 
you  instantly  into  a  holy  cathedral." 

For  myself,  I  have  never  been  able  to  choose 
permanently  between  these  two  glorious  singers, 
and  at  that  time  I  had  been  under  the  spell  of 
the  hermit  song  for  days.  Morning  after 
morning  I  had  spent  in  the  woods,  listening  to 
the  marvelous  voice,  and  trying  to  discover  its 
charm. 

The  bird  began  to  sing  his  way  down  to  us 
about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  heard  him 
first  afar  off,  then  coming  nearer  and  nearer, 
till  he  reached  some  favorite  perch  in  the  woods 
behind,  and  very  near  the  farmhouse,  before 
noon,  where  he  usually  sang  at  intervals  till 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening.  I  studied  his  song 
carefully.  It  consisted  of  but  one  clause,  com- 
posed of  a  single  emphasized  note  followed  by 
two  triplets  on  a  descending  scale.  But  while 
retaining  the  relative  position  of  these  few  notes 
he  varied  the  effect  almost  infinitely,  by  chang- 
ing both  the  key  and  the  pitch  constantly,  with 
such  skill  that  I  was  astonished  to  discover  the 
remarkable  simplicity  of  the  song.  A  striking 
quality  of  it  was  an  attempt  which  he  frequently 
made  to  utter  his  clause  higher  on  the  scale 
than  he  could  reach,  so  that  the  triplets  became 


10  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

a  sort  of  trill  or  tremolo,  at  the  very  extreme  of 
his  register.  Sometimes  he  gave  the  triplets 
alone,  without  the  introductory  note ;  but  never, 
in  the  weeks  that  I  studied  his  song,  did  he 
sing  other  than  this  one  clause. 

It  was  only  with  an  effort  that  I  could  force 
myself  to  analyze  the  performance.  Far  easier 
were  it,  and  far  more  delightful,  to  sit  en- 
chanted, to  be  overwhelmed  and  intoxicated  by 
his  thrilling  music.  For  me,  the  hermit  voices 
the  sublimity  of  the  deep  woods,  while  the  veery 
expresses  its  mystery,  its  unfathomable  remote- 
ness. A  wood  warbler,  on  the  contrary,  always 
brings  before  me  the  rush  and  hurry  of  the 
world  of  people,  and  the  wood  pewee  its  under- 
current of  eternal  sadness.  Into  the  mood  in- 
duced by  the  melancholy  pewee  song  breaks 
how  completely  and  how  happily  the  cheery 
optimism  of  the  chickadee  !  Brooding  thoughts 
are  dissipated,  all  is  not  a  hollow  mockery,  and 
life  is  still  worth  living. 

Often,  when  listening  to  the  hermit  song,  I 
wondered  that  at  the  first  note  of  the  king  of 
singers  all  other  birds  were  not  mute.  But  evi- 
dently the  birds  have  not  enthroned  this  thrush. 
Possibly,  even,  they  do  not  share  human  admi- 
ration for  his  song.  The  redstart  goes  on  jerk- 
ing out  his  monotonous  ditty ;  chippy  irrever- 
ently mounts  a  perch  and  trills  out  his  inane 


A  PERFECT  NOOK.  11 

apology  for  a  song;  the  vireo  in  yonder  tree 
spares  us  not  one  of  his  never-ending  plati- 
tudes. But  the  hermit  thrush  goes  on  with 
sublime  indifference  to  the  voices  of  common 
folk  down  below.  Sometimes  he  is  answered 
from  afar  by  another  of  his  kind,  who  arranges 
his  notes  a  little  differently.  The  two  seem  to 
wait  for  each  other,  as  if  not  to  mar  their  divine 
harmony  by  vulgar  haste  or  confusion. 

"  We  must  find  the  '  see-here  '  bird,"  said  my 
friend  the  next  morning,  when  she  appeared  at 
the  door 'of  the  farmhouse,  and  I  joined  her  for 
our  second  tramp.  This  was  a  bird  whose  long, 
deliberate  notes,  sounding  like  the  above  words, 
had  tantalized  me  from  the  day  of  my  arrival. 

We  resolved  this  time  to  go  into  the  woods 
we  had  skirted  the  night  before.  A  set  of  bars 
admitted  us  to  a  most  enticing  bit  of  forest,  a 
paradise  to  city-weary  eyes  and  nature-loving 
hearts.  From  the  bars  rose  sharply  a  rough 
wood  road,  while  a  few  steps  to  the  right  and  a 
scramble  up  a  rocky  path  changed  the  whole 
world  in  a  moment.  We  were  in  a  perfect 
nook,  which  I  had  discovered  a  few  days  before, 
with  a  carpet  of  dead  leaves,  a  sky  of  waving 
branches,  the  fierce  sun  shut  out  by  curtains  of 
living  green,  the  air  cooled  by  a  clear  moun- 
tain stream,  and  the  "  priceless  gift  of  delicious 


12  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

silence  "  —  silence  that  had  haunted  my  dreams 
for  months  —  broken  only  by  the  voices  of 
birds,  whispers  of  leaves,  and  ripple  of  brook. 
In  this  spot, 

"  where  Nature  dwells  alone, 
Of  man  unknowing,  and  to  man  unknown," 

(as  I  tried  to  persuade  myself)  I  had  estab- 
lished my  out-of-door  study,  and  here  I  had 
spent  perfect  days,  watching  the  residents  of 
the  vicinity,  and  saturating  my  whole  being 
with  the  delights  of  sight  and  sound  and  scent 
till  it  was  thrilling  happiness  just  to  be  alive. 
Would  that  I  could  impart  the  freshness,  the 
fragrance,  the  heavenly  peace  of  those  days  to 
this  chronicle,  to  comfort  and  strengthen  my 
readers  not  so  blessed  as  to  share  them  ! 

The  dwellers  in  this  delectable  spot,  where  I 
persuaded  my  friend  to  rest  a  moment,  I  had 
not  found  altogether  what  I  should  have  chosen ; 
for,  unfortunately,  the  place  most  desirable  for 
the  student  is  not  always  the  best  for  birds. 
They  are  quite  apt  to  desert  the  cool,  breezy 
heights  charming  to  wood-lovers,  to  build  in 
some  impenetrable  tangle,  where  the  ground  is 
wet  and  full  of  treacherous  quagmires,  where 
mosquitoes  abound,  and  flies  do  greatly  flourish, 
where  close-growing  branches  and  leaves  keep 
out  every  breath  of  air,  and  there  is  no  solid 
rest  for  the  legs  of  a  camp-stool.  Such  a  differ- 


A   SPORTSMAN  IN  FUR.  13 

ence  does  it  make,  as  to  a  desirable  situation, 
from  which  side  you  look  at  it. 

The  principal  inhabitant  presented  himself 
before  we  were  fairly  seated,  a  chipmunk,  who 
came  out  of  his  snug  door  under  the  roots  of  a 
maple-tree  and  sat  up  on  his  doorstep  —  one  of 
the  roots  —  to  make  his  morning  toilet,  dress  his 
sleek  fur,  scent  the  sweet  fresh  air,  and  enjoy 
himself  generally.  In  due  time  he  ran  down  to 
the  little  brook  before  the  door,  and  then  started 
out,  evidently  after  something  to  eat ;  and  he 
went  nosing  about  on  the  ground  with  a  thor- 
oughness to  make  a  bird-lover  shudder,  for  what 
ground  bird's  nest  could  escape  him  ! 

I  recognize  the  fact  that,  from  his  point  of 
view,  chipmunks  must  live,  and  why  should  they 
not  have  eggs  for  breakfast?  Doubtless,  in 
squirrel  philosophy,  it  is  a  self-evident  truth 
that  birds  were  created  to  supply  the  tables  of 
their  betters  in  fur,  and  the  pursuit  of  eggs  and 
nestlings  adds  the  true  sportsman's  zest  to  the 
enjoyment  of  them.  So  long,  therefore,  as  the 
law  that  "  might  makes  right "  prevails  in  higher 
quarters,  we  are  forced  to  acknowledge,  however 
grudgingly,  his  "  right  "  to  his  game  ;  but  for  all 
that  I  should  like  exceedingly  to  protect  it  from 
him. 

I  could  not  long  keep  a  bird-lover  studying  a 
chipmunk.  In  a  few  minutes  we  started  again 


14  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

on  our  way  up  the  mountain.  Each  side  of  our 
primitive  wood  road  was  bordered  with  ferns  in 
their  first  tender  green,  many  of  them  still  wear- 
ing their  droll  little  hoods.  Forward  marched 
the  Enthusiast ;  breathlessly  I  followed.  Up 
one  little  hill,  down  another,  over  a  third  we 
hastened. 

"  See ! "  I  said,  hoping  to  arrest  the  tireless 
steps  ;  "  on  that  tree  I  saw  yesterday  a  scarlet 
tanager." 

"  Oh,  did  you  ?  "  she  said  carelessly,  pausing 
not  an  instant  in  her  steady  tramp. 

Then  rose  the  note  we  were  listening  for,  far 
to  the  left  of  the  road. 

"  He  's  over  there  !  "  she  cried  eagerly,  leaving 
the  path,  and  pushing  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound.  "  But  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  tire  you,"  she 
added.  "  You  sit  down  here,  and  I  '11  just  go  on 
a  little." 

"  No,  indeed  !  "  I  answered  hastily,  for  I  knew 
well  what  "  just  go  on  a  little  "  meant,  —  I  had 
tried  it  before :  it  meant  pass  out  of  sight'  in 
two  minutes,  and  out  of  hearing  in  one  more, 
so  absorbed  in  following  an  elusive  bird  note 
that  everything  else  would  be  forgotten. .  "  No, 
indeed !  "  I  repeated.  "  I  shall  not  be  left  in 
these  woods  ;  where  you  go  I  follow." 

"  But  I  won't  go  out  of  sight,"  she  urged,  her 
conscience  contending  with  her  eager  desire  to 


AN  ECCENTRIC  FOX.  15 

proceed,  for  well  she  knew  that  I  did  not  take 
my  woods  by  storm  in  this  way. 

I  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  I  had  no  intention 
of  being  left,  for  I  did  not  know  what  dwellers 
the  forest  might  contain,  and  I  had  a  vivid 
remembrance  of  being  greatly  startled,  only  a 
day  or  two  before,  by  unearthly  cries  in  these 
very  woods ;  of  seeing  a  herd  of  young  cattle 
rushing  frantically  away,  turning  apprehensive 
glances  toward  the  sounds,  and  huddling  in  a 
frightened  heap  down  by  the  bars,  while  the 
strange  cries  came  nearer  and  nearer,  till  I 
should  not  have  been  surprised  to  see  any  sort 
of  a  horror  emerge  ;  of  calling  out  to  the  farmer 
whom  I  met  at  the  door,  "  Oh,  there 's  something 
dreadful  up  in  the  woods !  "  and  his  crushing 
reply,  "  Yes,  I  heard  it.  It 's  a  fox  barking ;  we 
hear  one  now  and  then." 

I  cast  no  doubts  on  the  veracity  of  that 
farmer,  though  I  could  not  but  remember  the 
license  men  sometimes  allow  themselves  when 
trying  to  quiet  fears  they  consider  foolish  ;  nor 
did  his  solution  seem  to  account  satisfactorily  for 
the  evident  terror  of  the  cattle,  which  had  lived 
in  those  woods  all  their  lives,  and  had  no  reason 
to  fear  the  "  bark  "  of  a  fox.  I  preferred,  there- 
fore, not  to  encounter  any  such  eccentric  "  fox  " 
alone ;  hence  I  refused  to  listen  to  my  friend's 
entreaties,  but  simply  followed  on,  over  fallen 


16  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

tree -trunks,  under  drooping  branches,  and 
through  unyielding  brush;  now  sinking  ankle- 
deep  in  a  pile  of  dead  leaves,  now  catching  my 
hair  in  a  broken  branch,  and  now  nearly  falling 
over  a  concealed  root ;  wading  through  swamps, 
sliding  down  banks,  cutting  and  tearing  our 
shoes,  and  leaving  bits  of  our  garments  every- 
where. On  we  went  recklessly,  intent  upon  one 
thing  only, — seeing  the  bird  who,  enthroned  on 
his  tree-top,  calmly  and  serenely  uttered  his 
musical  "  see-e  he-e-re ! "  while  we  struggled 
and  scrambled  and  fought  our  way  down  below. 

We  reached  a  steep  bank,  and  paused  a  mo- 
ment, breathless,  disheveled,  my  interest  in  the 
beguiler  long  ago  cooled. 

"  There  's  a  brook  down  there,"  I  said  has- 
tily ;  "  we  can't  cross  it." 

Could  we  not  ?  But  we  did,  at  the  expense 
of  a  little  further  rending,  and  the  addition  of 
wet  feet  to  our  other  discomforts.  But  at  last ! 
at  last!  we  came  in  sight  of  our  bird,  a  mere 
black  speck  against  the  sky. 

"  It 's  a  flycatcher  !  "  exclaimed  my  compan- 
ion eagerly.  "  See  his  attitude  !  I  must  get 
around  the  other  side  !  "  and  on  we  went  again. 
A  fence  loomed  before  us,  a  fence  of  brush, 
impossible  to  get  through,  and  almost  as  impos- 
sible to  get  over.  But  what  were  any  of  man's 
devices  to  an  eager  bird-hunter!  Over  that 


UPON   THE    TREE-TOP.  17 

fence  she  went  —  like  a  bird,  I  was  going  to  say, 
but  like  a  boy  would  perhaps  be  better.  More 
leisurely  and  with  difficulty  I  followed,  for  once 
on  the  other  side  I  should  be  content.  I  knew 
the  road  could  not  be  far  off,  and  through  the 
tangled  way  we  had  come  I  was  resolved  I  would 
not  pass  again. 

Well,  we  ran  him  down.  He  was  obliging 
enough  to  stay  in  one  spot,  indifferent  to  our 
noisy  presence  on  the  earth  below,  while  we 
studied  him  on  all  sides,  and  decided  him  to  be 
the  olive-sided  flycatcher  (Contopus  borealis). 
We  entered  his  name  and  his  manners  in  our 
notebooks,  and  we  were  happy,  or  at  least  re- 
lieved. 

The  habit  of  this  bird,  as  I  learned  by  obser- 
vation of  him  afterward,  was  to  sit  on  the  high- 
est twig  of  a  tree  dead  at  the  top,  where  he 
could  command  a  view  of  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood, and  sing  or  call  by  the  hour,  in  a  loud, 
drawling,  and  rather  plaintive  tone,  somewhat 
resembling  the  wood  pewee's,  though  more  ani- 
mated in  delivery.  I  found  that  the  two  notes 
which  syllabled  themselves  to  my  ear  as  "  see-e 
he-e-re !  "  were  prefaced  by  a  low,  staccato  utter- 
ance like  "  quick  !  "  and  all  were  on  the  same 
note  of  the  musical  scale.  Occasionally,  but  not 
often,  he  made  a  dash  into  the  air,  flycatcher 
fashion,  and  once  I  saw  him  attempt  to  drive 


18  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

away  a  golden-winged  woodpecker  who  took  the 
liberty  of  alighting  on  a  neighboring  dead  tree- 
trunk.  Down  upon  him  like  a  small  tornado 
came  the  flycatcher  instantly,  expecting,  appar- 
ently, to  annihilate  him.  But  the  big,  clumsy 
woodpecker  merely  slid  one  side  a  little,  to  avoid 
the  onslaught,  and  calmly  went  on  dressing  his 
feathers  as  if  no  small  flycatcher  existed.  This 
indifference  did  not  please  the  olive-sided,  but 
he  alighted  on  a  branch  below  and  bided  his 
time  ;  it  came  soon,  when  the  golden-wing  took 
flight,  and  he  came  down  upon  him  like  a  king- 
bird on  a  crow.  I  heard  the  snap  of  the  wood- 
pecker's beak  as  he  passed  into  the  thick  woods, 
but  nobody  was  hurt,  and  the  flycatcher  re- 
turned to  his  perch. 

When  we  had  rested  a  little  after  our  mad 
rush  through  the  woods,  we  found  that  the  hours 
were  slipping  away,  and  we  must  go.  Passing 
down  the  road  at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  we  were 
about  to  cross  a  tiny  brook,  when  our  eyes  fell 
upon  a  distinguished  personage  at  his  bath.  He 
was  a  rose-breasted  grosbeak,  and  we  instantly 
stopped  to  see  him.  He  did  not  linger,  but  gave 
himself  a  thorough  splashing,  and  flew  at  once 
to  a  tree,  where  he  began  dressing  his  plumage 
in  frantic  haste,  as  if  he  knew  he  was  a  "  shin- 
ing mark  "  for  man  and  beast.  He  stayed  half 
a  minute  on  one  branch,  jerked  a  few  feathers 


DRESSING   IN  A   HURRY.  19 

through  his  beak,  then  flew  to  another  place  and 
hurriedly  dressed  a  few  more  ;  and  so  he  kept 
on,  evidently  excited  and  nervous  at  being  tem- 
porarily disabled  by  wet  feathers,  though  I  do 
not  think  he  knew  he  had  human  observers,  for 
we  were  at  some  distance  and  perfectly  motion- 
less. He  was  a  beauty,  even  for  his  lovely  fam- 
ily, and  the  rose  color  of  his  wing-linings  was 
the  most  gorgeous  I  ever  saw. 

Moreover,  I  knew  this  bird,  later,  to  be  as 
useful  as  he  was  beautiful.  He  it  was  who  took 
upon  himself  the  care  of  the  potato-patch  in  the 
garden  below,  spending  hours  every  day  in 
clearing  off  the  destructive  potato-beetle,  sing- 
ing as  he  went  to  and  from  his  labors,  and, 
when  the  toils  of  the  day  were  over,  treating  us 
to  a  delicious  evening  song  from  the  top  of  a 
tree  close  by. 

In  that  way  the  grosbeak's  time  was  spent  till 
babies  appeared  in  the  hidden  nest,  when  every- 
thing was  changed,  and  he  set  to  work  like  any 
hod-carrier  ;  appearing  silently,  near  the  house, 
on  the  lowest  board  of  the  fence,  looking  ear- 
nestly for  some  special  luxury  for  baby  beaks. 
No  more  singing  on  the  tree-tops,  no  more  hunt- 
ing of  the  beetle  in  stripes  ;  food  more  delicate 
was  needed  now,  and  he  found  it  among  the 
brakes  that  grew  in  clumps  all  about  under  my 
window.  It  was  curious  to  see  him  searching, 


20  TRAMPS    WITH   AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

hopping  upon  a  stalk  which  bent  very  much 
with  his  weight,  peering  eagerly  inside ;  then  on 
another,  picking  off  something ;  then  creeping 
between  the  stems,  going  into  the  bunch  out  of 
sight,  and  reappearing  with  his  mouth  full ;  then 
flying  off  to  his  home.  This  bird  was  peculiarly 
marked,  so  that  I  knew  him.  The  red  of  his 
breast  was  continued  in  a  narrow  streak  down 
through  the  white,  as  if  the  color  had  been  put 
on  wet,  and  had  dripped  at  the  point. 

The  third  tramp  with  my  Enthusiast  was  after 
a  warbler.  To  my  fellow  bird-students  that  tells 
a  story.  Who  among  them  has  not  been  be- 
witched by  one  of  those  woodland  sprites,  led  a 
wild  dance  through  bush  and  brier,  satisfied  and 
happy  if  he  could  catch  an  occasional  glimpse  of 
the  flitting  enchanter  ! 

This  morning  we  drove  a  mile  or  two  out  of 
the  village,  hitched  our  horse,  —  a  piece  of  per- 
fection, who  feared  nothing,  never  saw  anything 
on  the  road,  and  would  stand  forever  if  desired, 
—  and  started  into  the  pasture.  The  gate 
passed,  we  had  first  to  pick  our  way  through  a 
bog  which  had  been  cut  by  cows'  hoofs  into 
innumerable  holes  and  pitfalls,  and  then  so 
overgrown  by  weeds  and  moss  that  we  could 
not  always  tell  where  it  was  safe  to  put  a  foot. 
We  consoled  ourselves  for  the  inconvenience  by 


THE  HERMIT'S  NEST.  21 

reflecting  that  a  bog  on  the  side  of  a  mountain 
must  probably  be  a  provision  of  Mother  Na- 
ture's, an  irrigating  scheme  for  the  benefit  of 
the  hillside  vegetation.  If  all  the  water  ran  off 
at  once,  we  argued,  very  little  could  grow  there. 
So  we  who  love  to  see  our  hills  covered  with 
trees  should  not  complain,  but  patiently  seek  the 
stepping-stones  sometimes  to  be  found,  or  meekly 
resign  ourselves  to  going  in  over  boot-tops  with- 
out a  word. 

Our  first  destination  was  the  nest  of  a  hermit 
thrush,  discovered  by  my  friend  the  day  before  ; 
and  we  stumbled  and  slipped  and  picked  our 
way  a  long  distance  over  the  dismal  swamp, 
floundering  on  till  we  reached  a  clump  of  young 
hemlocks,  on  ground  somewhat  more  solid,  where 
we  could  sit  down  to  rest.  There  was  the  nest 
right  before  us,  a  nicely  made,  compact  bird 
home,  exquisitely  placed  in  one  of  the  little 
trees,  a  foot  from  the  ground. 

While  waiting  for  the  owners  to  appear,  I  was 
struck  with  the  beauty  of  the  young  hemlocks, 
so  different  from  most  evergreen  trees.  From 
the  time  a  hemlock  has  two  twigs  above  ground 
it  is  always  picturesque  in  its  method  of  growth. 
Its  twigs,  especially  the  topmost  one,  bend  over 
gracefully  like  a  plume.  There  is  no  rigid  uni- 
formity among  the  smaller  branches,  no  two  ap- 
pear to  be  of  the  same  length,  but  there  is  an 


22  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

artistic  variety  that  makes  of  the  little  tree  a 
thing  of  beauty.  When  it  puts  out  new  leaves 
in  the  early  summer,  and  every  twig  is  tipped 
with  light  green,  it  is  particularly  lovely,  as  if 
in  bloom. 

How  different  the  mathematical  precision  of 
the  spruce,  which  might  indeed  have  been  laid 
out  upon  geometrical  lines !  When  a  baby 
spruce  has  but  three  twigs,  one  will  stand  stiffly 
upright,  as  if  it  bore  the  responsibility  of  up- 
holding the  spruce  traditions  of  the  ages,  while 
the  other  twigs  will  duly  spread  themselves  at 
nearly  right  angles,  leaving  their  brother  to  rep- 
resent the  aspirations  of  the  family,  and  thus 
even  in  infancy  reproduce  in  miniature  the  full- 
grown,  formal  tree. 

When,  after  waiting  some  time  in  vain  for  the 
birds  to  appear,  we  examined  the  nest  before  us, 
we  found  that  it  held  two  thrush  eggs  and  one 
of  the  cowbird.  The  impertinence  of  this  dis- 
reputable bird  in  thrusting  her  plebeian  off- 
spring upon  the  divine  songster,  to  rear  at  the 
expense  of  her  own  lovely  brood,  was  not  to 
be  tolerated.  The  dirty  speckled  egg  looked 
strangely  out  of  place  among  the  gems  that  be- 
longed to  the  nest,  and  I  removed  it,  careful  not 
to  touch  nest  or  eggs.  So  pertinacious  is  this  par- 
asite upon  bird  society  that  my  friend  says  that 
in  Illinois,  where  the  wood  thrush  represents  the 


A   DISTURBER   OF  NESTS.  23 

charming  family,  almost  every  wood  thrush  nest, 
in  the  early  summer,  contains  a  cowbird's  egg  ; 
and  not  until  they  have  reared  one  of  the  in- 
truders can  the  birds  hope  to  have  a  brood  of 
their  own.  Fortunately  they  nest  twice  in  the 
season,  and  the  cowbird  does  not  disturb  the 
second  family. 

While  we  sat  watching  the  hermit's  nest,  we 
were  attracted  by  another  resident  of  that  cozy 
group  of  hemlocks  and  maples.  He  appeared 
upon  a  low  shrub  within  twenty  feet  of  us,  and 
began  to  sing.  First  came  a  long,  deliberate 
note  of  the  clearest  and  sweetest  tone,  then  two 
similar  notes,  a  third  higher,  followed  by  three 
triplets  on  the  same  note.  Though  dressed  in 
sparrow  garb,  his  colors  were  bright,  and  he 
was  distinguished  and  made  really  beautiful  by 
two  broad  lines  of  buff-tinted  white  over  his 
crown,  and  a  snowy  white  throat.  He  was  the 
white-throated .  sparrow,  one  of  the  largest  and 
most  interesting  of  his  family.  The  charm  of 
his  song  is  its  clearness  of  tone  and  deliberate- 
ness  of  utterance.  It  is  calm  as  the  morning, 
finished,  complete,  and  almost  the  only  bird  song 
that  can  be  perfectly  imitated  by  a  human  whis- 
tle. I  never  shared  the  enthusiasm  of  some  of 
my  fellow  bird-lovers  for  the  sparrows  till  I  knew 
the  white-throat  and  learned  to  love  the  dear 
little  song  sparrow.  It  is  unfortunate  that  the 


24  TRAMPS    WITH   AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

song  of  the  former  has  been  translated  into  a 
word  so  unworthy  as  "peabody,"  and  that  the 
name  "  peabody  bird  "  has  become  fastened  on 
him  in  New  England.  Far  more  appropriate 
the  words  applied  by  Elizabeth  Akers  Allen  to 
an  unknown  singer,  —  possibly  this  very  bird, 
—  embodied  in  her  beautiful  poem  "  The  Sun- 
set Thrush."  For  whatever  bird  it  was  in- 
tended, the  syllables  and  arrangement  corre- 
spond to  the  white-throat's  utterance,  and  the 
words  are,  "  Sweet !  sweet !  sweet !  Sorrowful ! 
sorrowful !  sorrowful !  " 

A  white-throat  who  haunted  the  neighborhood 
of  my  farmhouse  did  not  confine  himself  to  the 
family  song ;  which,  by  the  way,  varies  less  with 
this  species  than  with  any  other  I  know.  At 
first,  for  some  time,  he  entirely  omitted  the  trip- 
lets, making  his  song  consist  of  four  long  notes, 
the  fourth  being  in  place  of  the  triplets.  Then, 
later,  he  dropped  the  last  note  a  half  tone  below 
the  others,  still  omitting  the  triplets,  which,  in 
fact,  in  three  or  four  weeks  of  listening  and 
watching,  I  never  once  heard  him  utter.  In 
July  of  that  year,  in  passing  over  the  Canadian 
Pacific  Railway  on  my  way  West,  I  heard  innu- 
merable songs  by  this  bird.  Every  time  the 
train  stopped,  white-throat  voices  rang  out  on 
all  sides,  and  with  considerable  variety.  Many 
dropped  half  a  tone  at  the  end,  and  some  uttered 


FINDING   BIRDS'-NESTS.  25 

the  triplets  on  that  note,  while  others  began  the 
song  on  a  higher  note,  and  gave  the  rest  a  third 
below,  instead  of  above,  as  usual. 

But  to  return  to  the  singer  before  us  on  that 
memorable  day.  After  singing  a  long  time,  he 
suddenly  began  to  utter  the  first  two  notes  alone, 
and  then  apparently  to  listen.  We  also  listened, 
and  soon  heard  a  reply  of  the  same  two  notes  on 
a  different  pitch.  These  responsive  calls  were 
kept  up  for  some  time,  and  seemed  to  be  signals 
between  the  bird  and  his  mate  ;  for  neither  she 
nor  her  nest  could  be  found,  though  the  pair 
had  been  startled  out  of  that  very  bush  on  the 
preceding  day.  We  searched  the  clumps  of 
shrubs  carefully,  but  without  success. 

I  long  ago  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
ability  to  find  nests  easily  is  as  truly  a  natural 
gift  as  the  ability  to  become  a  musician,  or  the 
power  to  see  a  statue  in  a  block  of  marble. 
That  gift  is  not  mine.  I  have  an  almost  in- 
vincible repugnance  to  poking  into  bushes  and 
thrusting  aside  branches  to  discover  who  has 
hidden  there.  Moreover,  if  a  bird  seems  anx- 
ious or  alarmed,  I  never  can  bear  to  disturb  her. 
Nor  indeed  do  I  care  to  find  many  nests.  A 
long  list  of  nests  found  in  a  season  gives  me  no 
pleasure;  how  many  birds  belong  to  a  certain 
district  does  not  concern  me  in  the  least.  But 
if  I  have  really  studied  one  or  two  nests,  and 


26  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

made  acquaintance  with  the  tricks  and  manners 
of  the  small  dwellers  therein,  I  am  satisfied  and 
happy. 

While  we  lingered  in  the  little  hemlock  grove, 
enraptured  with  the  white-throat,  and  feeling 
that 

"  Here  were  the  place  to  lie  alone  all  day 
On  shadowed  grass,  beneath  the  blessed  trees," 

a  distant  note  reached  our  ever-listening  ears. 
It  was  the  voice  of  a  warbler,  and  a  most  allur- 
ing song.  Such  indeed  we  found  it,  for  on  the 
instant  the  Enthusiast  sprang  to  her  feet,  alert 
to  her  finger-tips,  crying,  "  That 's  the  bird 
we  're  after  !  "  adding  as  usual,  as  she  started 
across  the  field,  "  You  sit  still !  I  won't  go 
far,"  while  as  usual,  also,  I  snatched  my  things 
and  followed. 

The  song  was  in  the  tone  of  one  of  the  most 
bewitching  as  well  as  the  most  elusive  of  war- 
blers, the  black-throated  green ;  a  bird  not  so 
big  as  one's  thumb,  with  a  provoking  fondness 
for  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees,  where  foliage  is 
thickest,  and  for  keeping  in  constant  motion, 
flitting  from  twig  to  twig,  and  from  tree  to  tree, 
throwing  out  as  he  goes 

"  The  sweetest  sound  that  ever  stirred 
A  warbler's  throat." 

This  one  was  tireless,  as  are  all  of  his  tribe,  and 
led  us  a  weary  dance  over  big,  steep-sided  rocks, 


"YOU  SIT  STILL."  27 

through  more  and  more  bogs,  over  a  fence,  and 
out  of  our  open  fields  into  deep  woods. 

Now,  my  companion  in  these  tramps  has  a 
rooted  opinion  that  she  is  easily  fatigued,  and 
must  rest  frequently ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  it  is 
true,  when  she  has  no  strong  interest  to  urge 
her  on.  So  she  used  to  burden  herself  with  a 
clumsy  waterproof,  to  throw  on  the  ground  to 
sit  upon  ;  and  in  compliance  with  this  notion 
(which  was  most  amusing  to  those  whom  she 
tired  out  in  her  tramps),  whenever  she  thought 
of  it  —  that  is,  when  the  bird  voice  was  still  for 
a  moment  —  she  would  seek  a  sloping  bank,  or 
a  place  beside  a  tree  where  she  could  lean,  and 
then  throw  herself  down,  determined  to  rest. 
But  always  in  one  minute  or  less,  the  warbler 
would  be  sure  to  begin  again,  when  away  went 
good  resolutions  and  fatigue,  and  she  sprang  up 
like  a  Jack-in-the-box,  saying,  of  course,  "  You 
sit  still ;  I  '11  just  go  on  a  little,"  and  off  we 
went  over  brake  and  brier. 

While  pursuing  this  vocal  ignis  fatuus  I 
made  a  charming  discovery.  In  one  of  the 
temporary  pauses  in  our  wild  career,  I  was 
startled  by  the  flight  of  a  bird  from  the  ground 
very  near  us,  and,  searching  about,  I  soon  found 
a  veery's  nest  with  one  egg.  It  was  daintily 
placed  in  a  clump  of  brakes  or  big  ferns,  resting 
on  a  fallen  stick,  over  and  around  which  the 
brakes  had  grown. 


28  TRAMPS    WITH   AN   ENTHUSIAST. 

The  bird  was  not  so  pleased  with  my  discov- 
ery as  I  was.  She  perched  on  a  tree  over  our 
heads,  and  uttered  the  mournful  veery  cry ;  and 
though  I  did  not  so  much  as  lay  a  finger  on  that 
nest,  I  believe  she  deserted  it  at  that  moment, 
for  several  days  afterward  it  was  found  exactly 
as  on  that  day,  with  its  one  egg  cold  and  aban- 
doned. 

If  I  had  not,  through  two  summers'  close 
study,  made  myself  very  familiar  with  the  vari- 
ous calls  and  cries  of  the  veery,  I  think  I  should 
be  driven  wild  by  them  ;  for  no  bird  that  I  know 
can  impart  such  distance  to  his  notes,  and  few 
can  get  around  so  silently  and  unobserved  as  he. 
A  great  charm  in  his  song  is  that  it  rarely  bursts 
upon  your  notice ;  it  appears  to  steal  into  your 
consciousness,  and  in  a  moment  the  air  seems 
full  of  his  breezy,  woodsy  music,  his  "  quivering, 
silvery  song,"  as  Cheney  calls  it. 

Not  long  were  we  allowed  to  meditate  upon 
the  charms  of  the  veery,  for  again  the  luring 
song  began,  the  other  side  of  the  belt  of  woods, 
and  off  we  started  anew.  This  time  we  secured 
the  bird,  or  his  name,  which  was  all  we  desired. 
The  sweet  beguiler  turned  out  to  be  the  warbler 
mentioned  above,  the  black-throated  green,  but 
with  a  more  than  usually  exquisite  arrangement 
of  his  notes.  Indeed,  my  friend,  who  was  what 
I  call  warbler-mad,  —  a  state  of  infatuation  I 


THE   LAST   TRAMP.  29 

have  with  care  and  difficulty  guarded  myself 
against,  —  heard  in  the  woods  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, during  that  summer's  visit,  no  less  than 
four  different  songs  from  the  same  species  of 
warbler. 

While  slowly  and  weariedly  dragging  myself 
back  to  where  our  patient  horse  stood  waiting,  I 
fell  into  meditation  on  this  way  of  making  the 
study  of  nature  hard  work  instead  of  rest  and 
refreshment,  and  the  comparative  merits  of  chas- 
ing up  one's  birds  and  waiting  for  them  to  come 
about  one.  Without  doubt  the  choice  of  method 
is  due  largely  to  temperament,  but  I  think  it 
will  be  found  that  most  of  our  nature-seers  have 
followed  the  latter  course. 

June  was  now  drawing  to  an  end,  and  the  day 
of  my  friend's  departure  had  nearly  arrived. 
One  more  tramp  remained  to  us.  It  was  a  walk 
up  a  long,  lonely  road  to  a  solitary  thorn-tree, 
where  I  was  studying  a  shrike's  nest. 

Just  as  we  left  the  village  a  robin  burst  into 
song,  and  this  bird,  because  of  certain  associa- 
tions, was  the  Enthusiast's  favorite  singer.  We 
paused  to  listen.  When  bird  music  begins  to 
wane,  when  thrushes  have  taken  their  broods 
afar,  and  orioles  and  catbirds  are  heard  no  more, 
one  appreciates  the  hearty  philosophy,  the  cheer- 
ful and  pleasing  song,  of  the  robin.  It  is  truly 


30  TRAMPS    WITH   AN   ENTHUSIAST. 

delightful  then  to  hear  his  noisy  challenge,  his 
gleeful  "  laugh,"  his  jolly  song.  We  may  indeed 
rhapsodize  over  our  rare,  fine  singers,  but  after 
all  we  could  better  spare  one  and  all  of  them 
than  our  two  most  common  songsters,  our  faith- 
ful stand-bys,  upon  whom  we  can  always  count 
to  preach  to  us  the  gospel  of  contentment,  cheer- 
fulness, and  patience,  —  the  dear  common  robin 
and  the  blessed  little  song  sparrow.  No  weather 
is  so  hot  that  they  will  not  pour  out  their  evan- 
gel to  us ;  no  rain  so  wet,  no  wind  so  strong, 
that  these  two  will  not  let  their  sweet  voices  be 
heard.  Blessed,  I  say,  be  the  common  birds,  liv- 
ing beside  our  dwellings,  bringing  up  their  young 
under  our  very  eyes,  accepting  our  advances  in 
a  spirit  of  friendliness,  coming  earliest,  staying 
latest,  and  keeping  up  their  song  even  through 
the  season  of  feeding,  when  many  become  silent. 
These  two  are  indispensable  to  us ;  these  two 
should  be  dearest  to  us  ;  these,  above  all  others, 
should  our  children  be  taught  to  respect  and 
love. 

The  robin  ceased,  and  we  passed  on.  One 
more  voice  saluted  us  from  the  last  house  of  the 
village :  a  wren,  whose  nest  was  placed  in  a 
bracket  under  the  roof,  sang  his  gushing  little 
ditty,  and  then  in  a  moment  we  were  in  a  differ- 
ent bird  world.  From  one  side  came  the  bobo- 
link's voice, 


THE   LARK'S   "SPUTTER."  31 

"  Preaching  boldly  to  the  sad  the  folly  of  despair, 
And  telling  whom  it  may  concern  that  all  the  world  is  fair ; " 

from  the  other,  the  plaintive  notes  of  the  meadow 
lark. 

Lovely  indeed  the  lark  looked  among  the  but- 
tercups in  the  pasture,  stretching  himself  up 
from  the  ground,  tall  and  slim,  and  almost  as 
yellow  as  they  ;  and  very  droll  his  sputtering 
cry,  as  he  flew  over  the  road  to  the  deep  grass 
of  the  meadow,  to  attend  to  the  wants  of  his 
family,  for  the  meadow  was  full  of  mysterious 
sounds  under  the  grass,  and  seemed  to  give  both 
bobolink  and  lark  much  concern. 

The  call  I  name  the  "sputter,"  because  it 
sounds  like  nothing  else  on  earth,  is  a  sort  of 
"  retching  "  note  followed  by  several  sputtering 
utterances,  hard  to  describe,  but  not  unpleasant 
to  hear,  perhaps  because  it  suggests  the  meadow 
under  the  warm  sun  of  June,  with  bobolinks 
soaring  and  singing,  and  a  populous  colony  be- 
neath the  long  grass.  Now  night  was  coming 
on,  and  the  larks  were  passing  from  the  pasture, 
where  they  seemed  to  spend  most  of  the  day, 
some  with  song  and  some  with  sputter,  over  the 
road,  to  drop  into  the  grass  and  be  seen  no 


While  through  the  blue  of  the  sky  the  swallows,  flitting  and 

flinging, 
Sent  their  slender  twitterings  down  from  a  thousand  throats." 


32  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

Sometimes,  on  that  lonely  road,  which  I 
passed  over  several  times  a  day,  I  was  treated 
to  a  fairy-like  sight.  It  was  when  a  recent 
shower  had  left  little  puddles  in  the  clay  road, 
and  the  eave  swallows  from  a  house  across  the 
meadow  came  down  to  procure  material  for  their 
adobe  structures.  Most  daintily  they  alighted 
on  their  tiny  feet  around  the  edge,  holding  up 
their  tails  like  wrens,  lest  they  should  soil  a 
feather  of  their  plumage,  and  raising  both  wings 
over  their  backs  like  butterflies,  fluttering  them 
all  the  time,  as  if  to  keep  their  balance  and 
partly  hold  them  up  from  the  ground,  — a  lovely 
sight  which  I  enjoyed  several  times. 

Under  the  eaves  of  the  distant  house,  where 
the  nests  of  these  birds  were  placed,  and  which 
I  visited  later,  were  evidences  of  tragedies.  The 
whole  length  of  the  cornice  on  the  back  side  of 
the  house  showed  marks  of  many  nests,  and  there 
were  left  at  that  time  but  four,  two  close  together 
at  each  end  of  the  line.  I  cannot  say  positively 
that  the  nests  had  fallen  while  in  use,  but  in  an- 
other place,  a  mile  away,  I  know  of  a  long  row 
having  fallen,  with  young  in,  every  one  of  whom 
was  killed.  Where  was  the  "instinct"  of  the 
birds  whose  hopes  thus  perished  ?  And  was  the 
trouble  with  their  material  or  with  their  situa- 
tion ?  I  noticed  this :  that  the  nests  had  abso- 
lutely nothing  to  rest  on,  not  even  a  projecting 


THE  PIHEBE'S    TALK.  33 

board.  They  were  plastered  against  a  perfectly 
plain  painted  board. 

Another  bird  whom  I  caught  in  a  new  role, 
apparently  giving  a  lesson  in  food-hunting  to  a 
youngster,  was  a  phoebe.  Hearing  a  new  and 
strange  cry,  mingled  with  tones  of  a  voice 
familiar  to  me,  I  looked  up,  and  discovered  a 
young  and  an  old  phoebe.  The  elder  kept  up 
a  running  series  of  remarks  in  the  tone  peculiar 
to  the  species,  while  the  infant  answered,  at 
every  pause,  by  a  querulous  single  note  in  a 
higher  key.  Every  moment  or  two  the  instruc- 
tor would  fly  out  and  capture  something,  talking 
all  the  while,  as  if  to  say,  "  See  how  easy  it  is ! " 
but  careful  not  to  give  the  food  to  the  begging 
and  complaining  pupil.  No  sooner  did  the  par- 
ent alight  than  the  youngster  was  after  him, 
following  him  everywhere  he  went.  After  a 
while  the  old  bird  flew  away,  when  that  deceiv- 
ing little  rogue  took  upon  himself  the  business 
of  fly-catching.  He  flew  out,  snapped  his  beak, 
and,  returning  to  his  perch,  wiped  it  carefully. 
Yet  when  the  elder  returned  he  at  once  resumed 
his  begging  and  crying,  as  if  starved  and  unable 
to  help  himself. 

A  friend  and  bird-student,  whose  home  is  in 
these  mountains,  assures  me  that  the  phoebes  in 
this  vicinity  do  not  confine  themselves  to  the 
traditional  family  cry,  but  have  a  really  pleasing 


34  TRAMPS    WITH  AN  ENTHUSIAST. 

song,  which  she  has  heard  several  times.  That, 
then,  is  another  of  the  supposed  songless  birds 
added  to  the  list  of  singers.  I  know  both  the 
kingbird  and  the  wood  pewee  sing,  not,  to  be 
sure,  in  a  way  to  be  compared  to  the  thrushes, 
though  far  excelling  the  utterances  of  the  war- 
blers. But  why  are  they  so  shy  of  exhibiting 
their  talent  ?  Why  do  they  make  such  a  secret 
of  it  ?  Can  it  be  that  they  are  just  developing 
their  musical  abilities? 

When  we  reached  the  thorn-tree,  on  that  last 
evening,  we  seated  ourselves  on  the  bank  beside 
the  road,  to  enjoy  the  music  of  the  meadow,  and 
to  see  the  shrike  family.  At  the  nest  all  was 
still,  probably  settled  for  the  night,  but  the 
"  lord  and  master  "  of  that  snug  homestead 
stood  on  a  tall  maple-tree  close  by,  in  dignified 
silence,  watching  our  movements,  no  doubt.  We 
waited  some  time,  but  he  refused  either  to  go  or 
to  relax  his  vigilance  in  the  least,  till  the  hour 
grew  late,  and  we  were  obliged  to  turn  back. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  the  sky  was  filled,  as  on 
that  first  evening,  with  soft,  rosy  sunset  clouds, 
and  the  distant  mountains,  with  Jay  Peak  for  a 
crown,  were  clothed  in  gorgeous  purple  again. 
With  all  this  beauty  before  us,  we  slowly  walked 
back  to  the  village,  and  I  felt  it  a  fitting  close 
to  my  delightful  if  exhausting  tramps  with  an 
Enthusiast. 


II. 


A   MYSTERIOUS   STRANGER. 

MY  first  sight  of  the  little  stranger  was  one 
morning  when  returning  from  a  long  stroll  in 
search  of  a  nest  of  the  red-headed  woodpecker. 
It  was  not  through  the  woods  I  had  been,  as 
might  be  expected.  I  did  not  search  the  dead 
limbs  or  lifeless  trees  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  fol- 
lowed the  dusty  road  and  examined  the  tele- 
graph poles,  for  the  woodpecker  of  these  latter 
days  has  departed  from  the  ways  of  his  fathers, 
deserted  the  cool  and  fragrant  woods,  and  taken 
up  his  abode  in  degenerate  places,  a  fitting 
change  of  residence  to  follow  his  change  of 
habit  from  digging  his  prey  out  of  the  tree- 
trunks  to  catching  it  on  the  wing. 

On  this  special  morning  I  found  holes  enough, 
and  birds  enough,  but  no  hole  that  seemed  to 
belong  to  any  particular  bird ;  and  as  I  walked 
along  home  by  the  railroad,  I  came  upon  my 
little  stranger.  He  was  seated  comfortably,  as 
it  appeared,  on  a  telegraph  wire,  so  comfortably, 
indeed,  that  he  did  not  care  to  disturb  himself 
for  any  stray  mortal  who  might  chance  to  pass. 


36  A   MYSTERIOUS   STRANGER. 

I  stopped  to  look,  and  hurriedly  note  his 
points,  fearing  every  moment  that  he  would 
take  wing ;  but  not  a  feather  stirred.  A  king 
on  his  throne  could  not  be  more  absolutely  in- 
different to  a  passer-by  than  this  little  beauty. 
He  was  self-possessed  as  a  thrush,  and  serene  as 
a  dove,  but  he  was  not  conveniently  placed  for 
study,  being  above  my  head  in  strong  sunlight, 
against  a  glaring  sky.  I  could  see  only  that 
his  under  parts  were  beautiful  fluffy  white 
dusted  with  blue-gray,  and  that  he  had  black 
on  the  wings.  He  was  somewhat  smaller  than 
a  robin,  and  held  his  tail  with  the  grace  of  a 
catbird. 

On  several  subsequent  days  I  passed  that 
way  frequently,  sometimes  seeing  the  bird  alone, 
again  with  a  comrade,  but  always  noting  the 
same  reserved  and  composed  manners,  and  al- 
ways so  placed  that  I  could  not  see  his  mark- 
ings. It  was  not  until  a  week  or  ten  days  later 
that  I  had  a  more  satisfactory  view. 

I  was  taking  my  usual  afternoon  walk,  about 
five  o'clock,  when,  as  I  approached  a  little  pond 
beside  the  road,  up  started  the  unknown  from 
a  brush  heap  on  the  edge.  He  flew  across  the 
road  to  a  tree  near  the  track,  and  I  was  about 
to  follow  him  when  my  eye  fell  upon  another 
on  the  fence  beyond,  and  on  walking  slowly 
toward  him  I  discovered  a  second,  and  then  a 


BABIES    IN    GRAY  — THE   SHRIKE 


BABIES   IN   GRAY.  37 

third.  Three  of  the  beauties  on  a  fence  a  little 
way  apart  —  there  was  then  a  family  !  I  stood 
and  gazed. 

The  backs  and  heads  of  the  birds,  as  I  could 
then  plainly  see,  were  a  little  darker  shade  of 
the  delicate  blue-gray,  with  the  same  soft,  fluffy 
look  I  had  noticed  on  the  breast.  The  wings 
were  black  and  somewhat  elaborately  marked 
with  white.  The  beak,  that  tell-tale  feature 
which  reveals  the  secret  of  a  bird's  life,  was 
not  long,  but  thick,  and  black  as  jet,  and  the 
dark  eye  was  set  in  a  heavy  black  band  across 
the  side  of  the  head.  The  combination  of  black 
and  gray  was  very  effective,  and  closer  acquaint- 
ance did  not  modify  my  first  opinion  of  the 
little  stranger  ;  he  was  a  bonny  bird  with  clear, 
open  gaze,  graceful  in  every  movement,  and 
innocent  and  sweet  in  life  I  was  sure,  and  am 
still,  in  spite  of  — 

But  let  me  tell  my  story  :  While  I  was  noting 
these  things  I  heard  the  cries  of  a  bird-baby 
behind  me.  The  voice  was  strange  to  me,  and 
of  a  curiously  human  quality.  I  turned  hastily, 
and  there  on  the  telegraph  pole  was  the  baby  in 
gray,  receiving  his  supper  from  one  of  his  par- 
ents, and  crying  over  it,  as  do  many  feathered 
little  folk  —  one  more  of  the  mysterious  family. 

There  were  thus  five  in  sight  at  once,  and  at 
least  three  of  them  were  infants  lately  out  of 


38  A   MYSTERIOUS   STRANGER. 

the  nest,  hardly  taught  to  feed  themselves  ;  yet 
the  most  sedate  head  of  the  household  was  no 
more  dignified  and  grown-up  in  manner  than 
was  the  youngest  of  them,  for  when  he  had  cried 
over  his  repast  and  descended  to  the  fence  I 
could  not  tell  him  from  Mamma  herself. 

I  soon  discovered  that  this  was  no  junketing 
party  ;  all  were  on  business  bent.  They  might 
look  at  me  and  they  did,  although  I  was  not  near 
enough  to  disturb  them  ;  but  each  and  every  one 
kept  at  least  one  eye  on  the  ground,  where  were 
growing  beans  or  some  plant  about  three  inches 
high,  and  I  'm  sure  no  small  creature  could  stir 
in  that  part  of  the  world  that  one  of  those  sharp 
eyes  did  not  light  upon  it.  They  were  ten  or 
fifteen  feet  apart,  so  that  each  had  his  own  share 
of  territory  to  overlook,  and  every  few  moments 
one  flew  to  the  ground,  seized  something,  and 
returned  at  once  to  his  place,  ready  for  another. 
It  was  a  wire  fence,  and  they  always  selected  the 
wires  instead  of  the  posts  to  perch  upon.  Sit- 
ting and  never  standing,  their  attitude  expressed 
the  most  charming  serenity. 

While  I  stood  watching,  two  of  the  youngsters 
happened  to  pounce  upon  the  same  object,  —  a 
worm  it  looked  like,  —  and  there  was  for  a  mo- 
ment a  spirited  tug  of  war.  Each  held  on  to  his 
end,  and  resisted  with  cries  the  attempts  of  his 
brother  to  deprive  him  of  it.  Doubtless  the 


AN    UNWELCOME   SURPRISE.  39 

prey,  whatever  it  was,  suffered  in  this  affair,  for 
in  a  moment  they  separated  amicably,  and  each 
returned  to  his  station  on  the  fence.  These  three 
were  babies  ;  their  actions  betrayed  them  ;  for  a 
little  later,  when  one  of  the  elders  flew  from  the 
field  to  a  low  peach-tree,  instantly  there  arose 
the  baby-cry  "  ya-a-a-a  !  "  and  those  three  sedate 
looking  personages  on  the  wire  arose  as  one  bird, 
and  flew  to  the  tree,  alighting  almost  on  the 
mother,  so  eager  were  they  to  be  fed.  In  a 
moment  she  flew  to  the  fence,  where  all  three  fol- 
lowed her.  When  she  escaped  from  their  im- 
portunities she  came  much  nearer  to  me,  doubt- 
less to  see  if  I  needed  watching,  and  I  had  a 
closer  look  than  I  had  succeeded  in  getting  be- 
fore, and  satisfied  myself  on  a  point  or  two  of 
marking. 

Up  to  this  time  my  searching  into  the  name 
and  identity  of  my  little  strangers  in  gray  had 
been  in  vain.  But  a  direful  suspicion  was  grow- 
ing within  me.  That  heavy  black  line  from  the 
eye !  The  strongly  marked  wings  !  I  turned 
with  dread  to  a  family  I  had  not  thought  of  try- 
ing—  the  shrikes.  There  were  the  markings, 
too  true  !  But  that  delicate  blue-gray  was  not 
"  slate  color."  Still,  people  see  colors  differently, 
and  in  every  other  way  the  description  was  per- 
fect. They  must  be  —  my  beautiful,  graceful, 
attractive  strangers  must  be  —  butcher-birds ! 


40  A   MYSTERIOUS   STRANGER. 

Dreadful  discovery  !  I  must  at  once  know  all 
about  them ;  whether  they  deserve  the  name  and 
the  reputation.  I  flew  to  my  books. 

"The  character  of  the  butcher-bird,"  says 
Wilson,  "  is  entitled  to  no  common  degree  of  re- 
spect. His  courage  and  intrepidity  are  beyond 
every  other  bird  of  his  size,  and  in  affection 
for  his  young  he  is  surpassed  by  no  other.  He 
attacks  the  largest  hawk  or  eagle  in  their  defense 
with  a  resolution  truly  astonishing,  so  that  all 
of  them  respect  him  ;  "  and,  further,  "  He  is  val- 
ued in  Carolina  and  Georgia  for  the  destruction 
of  mice.  He  sits  on  the  fence  and  watches  the 
stacks  of  rice,  and  darts  upon  them,  also  destroy- 
ing grasshoppers  and  crickets." 

So  said  Wilson,  but  subsequent  writers  have 
said  terrible  things  about  him :  that  he  catches 
small  birds  and  impales  them  on  thorns  ;  that  he 
delights  in  killing  more  than  he  can  eat.  Could 
these  things  be  true  ?  Where,  then,  was  the 
larder  of  this  family  ?  Such  a  curious  and  won- 
derful place  I  must  see.  I  resolved  to  devote 
myself  to  discovering  the  secrets  of  this  innocent 
looking  family  in  gray. 

The  nest  where  they  had  first  seen  the  light 
was  in  a  low  spruce-tree  beside  a  constantly 
used  gate,  not  more  than  eight  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  across  the  road  was  a  tree  they 
much  frequented.  Next  to  that,  and  overshad- 


A    THORNY  MONSTER.  41 

owed  by  it,  was,  as  I  now  discovered,  a  thorny 
tree,  "  honey  locust "  it  is  called.  Ominous  prox- 
imity !  I  resolved  to  investigate.  Perhaps  I 
should  find  the  birds'  place  of  storage.  I  crossed 
the  track  and  went  to  the  tree.  What  a  struc- 
ture it  was  !  A  mere  framework  for  thorns,  and 
a  finer  array  of  them  it  would  be  hard  to  find, 
from  the  tiny  affair  an  inch  in  length,  suitable 
to  hold  a  small  grasshopper,  to  foot-long  spikes, 
big  enough  to  impale  a  crow.  Not  only  was 
every  branch  and  every  twig  bristling  with  them, 
but  so  charged  was  the  whole  tree  with  the 
"feeling"  of  thorns,  that  it  actually  sent  out 
great  clumps  of  them  from  the  bare  trunk,  where 
there  was  not  a  shadow  of  excuse  for  being. 
They  grew  in  a  confused  mass,  so  that  at  first  I 
thought  there  had  been  a  hole  which  some  per- 
son had  stopped  by  crowding  it  full  of  those 
vegetable  needles,  at  all  angles,  and  of  all  sizes 
up  to  the  largest.  On  one  side  alone  of  the 
trunk,  not  more  than  five  feet  high,  were  eight 
of  these  eruptions  of  thorns.  Could  the  most 
bloodthirsty  shrike  desire  a  more  commodious 
larder? 

I  looked  carefully,  dreading  to  see  evidence  of 
their  use  in  the  traditional  way.  Outside  there, 
on  the  telegraph  wire,  sat  one  of  the  birds,  very 
much  at  home  ;  it  was  the  height  of  the  season, 
and  the  country  was  swarming  with  young  birds. 


42  A   MYSTERIOUS   STRANGER. 

Now,  if  ever,  they  should  lay  up  for  the  future, 
and  prove  their  right  to  the  name,  or  kill  to 
amuse  themselves,  if  that  were  their  object.  But 
the  closest  scrutiny  failed  to  reveal  one  thorn 
that  was,  or,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  ever  had  been, 
used  for  any  purpose  whatever.  There  was  not 
another  spiny  tree  in  the  vicinity,  and  I  came 
away  relieved. 

One  more  interview  I  was  happy  enough  to 
have  with  my  little  gray  friends.  Coming  lei- 
surely along  on  my  way  home  from  the  glen  one 
noon,  I  saw  two  of  them  sitting  on  the  wire  of 
a  fence  beside  the  road.  I  had  never  been  so 
near  them,  and  stopped  instantly  to  have  a  close 
look,  and  perhaps  settle  the  question  whether 
the  black  band  on  the  side  of  the  head  ended 
at  the  beak,  or  crossed  over  the  forehead  and 
met  its  fellow.  I  found,  at  this  short  range, 
that  the  light  part  of  the  plumage  was  covered 
with  fine  but  decided  wavy  bars,  which  gave  it 
an  exquisite  look,  and  proved  the  bird  to  be  the 
great  northern,  rather  than  the  loggerhead 
shrike  (I  could  n't  bear  to  have  my  bright 
beauty  called  a  loggerhead). 

Very  gradually  I  drew  nearer,  till  T  was  not 
more  than  six  feet  from  them,  and  could  see 
them  clearly,  while  they  remained  perfectly  self- 
possessed  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  that  I  stood 
there.  So  near  was  I  that  I  could  see  the  white 


FEATHERS  OB  FUR  ?  43 

eyelids,  and  the  tiny  feet,  which  seemed  hardly 
strong  enough  to  hold  them  on  their  perch,  and 
explained  their  preference  for  wires  to  rest  on. 

One  of  the  little  fellows  had  his  back  to  me, 
showing  the  beautiful  white  markings  on  his 
wings  as  they  lie  closed  and  folded  together. 
Near  the  end  of  them  were  white  lines  making 
on  the  black  feathers  a  figure  resembling  what 
is  known  in  needlework  as  a  "  crow's-foot,"  per- 
haps an  inch  in  width,  and,  a  little  above  this, 
two  dainty  waved  bars  met  like  a  pair  of  eye- 
brows. The  marking  was  elegant  in  the  ex- 
treme. 

While  I  looked,  the  bird  nearest  me  suddenly 
lost  what  little  interest  he  had  in  my  doings, 
turned  his  eyes  downward,  and  in  a  moment 
dropped  upon  a  big  grasshopper,  which  he  car- 
ried in  his  beak  to  a  wire  near  the  ground  to 
dispose  of.  Evidently,  however,  he  was  not 
quite  ready  to  eat,  for  he  deliberately  lifted  one 
foot,  took  the  grasshopper  in  his  claw,  and  in- 
stantly ejected  upon  the  ground  a  dark-colored 
bolus,  I  should  judge  half  an  inch  in  diameter, 
and  more  than  twice  as  long.  Then  he  returned 
to  his  grasshopper  and  made  short  work  of  it. 

This  seemed  only  to  sharpen  his  appetite,  for 
in  a  moment  he  dragged  out  from  the  grass 
something  which  startled  me.  Was  it  feathers 
or  fur  or  a  bit  of  old  rag  ? 


44  A   MYSTERIOUS   STRANGER. 

I  could  soon  tell,  for  he  was  not  in  the  least 
ashamed  or  secretive  about  it.  He  pulled  it  to 
where  a  fallen  wire  lay  very  near  the  ground, 
threw  it  partly  over  the  wire,  plainly  as  a  hold 
to  pull  against,  and  then  jerked  off  a  mouthful, 
which  he  ate.  Again  and  again  did  he  fling  it 
over  the  wire,  for  it  soon  slipped  off,  and  it  was 
perfectly  plain  that  the  object  was  to  give  him 
purchase  to  pull  against.  Then  I  could  see  small 
legs  on  the  fragment,  and  a  tail  like  a  mouse's. 
While  I  stood  watching  this  feast  in  progress,  a 
call  came  from  across  the  road.  It  was  not  loud, 
and  it  was  of  a  quality  hard  to  express,  not 
exactly  harsh,  nor  yet  musical.  It  was  instantly 
answered  by  the  two  on  the  fence,  and  the  one 
I  was  watching  dropped  his  fresh  meat  and 
joined  his  parent.  Then  I  examined  the  remains 
of  his  meat,  and  found  that  it  had  reddish  brown 
fur,  a  tail  not  so  long  but  resembling  that  of  a 
mouse.  It  was  on  the  borders  of  a  recently  cut 
field  of  wheat,  and  it  was  doubtless  some  species 
of  ground  mouse,  a  common  field  mouse,  I  have 
reason  to  believe. 

And  that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  the  pretty 
gray  birds  that  year. 


III. 

A   THORN-TREE  NEST. 

JUNE  was  drawing  to  a  close  ;  hermit  thrushes 
and  veeries  had  turned  their  energies  to  seeking 
food  for  hungry  young  mouths  ;  rose-breasted 
grosbeaks  and  golden  orioles,  as  well  as  their 
more  humbly  clad  fellow-creatures,  were  passing 
their  days  near  the  ground,  in  the  same  absorb- 
ing work ;  tree-tops  were  deserted,  and  singing 
was  nearly  over. 

It  was  well,  then,  that  I  should  leave  my  be- 
loved woods,  and  betake  myself  to  a  barren 
country  road,  where,  in  a  lonely  thorn-tree,  a 
bird  of  another  sort  than  these  had  set  up  late 
housekeeping,  a  shrike. 

The  reputation  of  this  bird  of  solitary  tastes 
is  not  attractive.  He  is  quarrelsome  and  un- 
friendly with  his  kind,  and  aggressive  and  mali- 
cious toward  others,  says  the  Oracle.  His 
pleasure  is  to  torture  and  destroy ;  no  sweet  or 
tender  sentiment  may  cling  about  his  life  ;  in 
fact,  he  is  altogether  unlovely.  So  declare  the 
books,  and  so,  with  additions  and  exaggerations, 
says  nearly  every  one  who  takes  birds  for  his 


46  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

theme.  He  is  branded  everywhere  as  the 
"  butcher-bird,"  and  it  seems  to  be  the  aim  of 
each  writer  to  discover  in  his  conduct  something 
a  little  more  sanguinary,  a  shade  more  depraved, 
than  any  predecessor  has  done. 

Now,  if  the  truth  is  what  we  are  seeking,  is  it 
not  desirable  to  see  for  ourselves,  or,  as  Emer- 
son puts  it,  "  leave  others'  eyes,  and  bring  your 
own "  ?  If  one  can  give  to  the  task  patient 
observation,  with  a  loving  spirit,  a  desire  to 
interpret  faithfully  and  to  see  the  best  instead 
of  the  worst,  may  he  not  perchance  find  that  the 
bird  is  not  the  monster  he  is  pictured?  And 
though  the  story  be  not  so  sensational,  is  it  not 
better  to  clear  up  than  to  blacken  the  reputation 
of  a  fellow-creature,  even  a  very  small  one  in 
feathers  ? 

This  thing  it  had  long  been  in  my  heart  to 
do,  —  to  see  with  my  own  eyes  what  enormities 
the  beautiful  butcher-bird  is  guilty  of.  I  left 
hermits  and  veeries,  I  said  adieu  to  sandpipers 
and  grosbeaks,  and  went  to  the  village  to  abide 
with  the  shrike  family.  No  more  delightful 
mornings  in  the  blessed  woods  ;  no  more  long, 
dreamy  twilights  filled  with  the  music  of 
thrushes  and  the  singing  brook ;  no  more 
charming  views  of  the  near  Green  Mountains, 
gray  in  the  morning  light,  glorious  rosy  purple 
under  the.  setting  sun ;  no  more  solitary  com- 


THE  ROLE    OF  REPORTER.  47 

munion  with  helpful  and  healing  nature.  My 
household  gods  must  now  be  set  up  among 
people,  with  their  cares  and  troubles,  where  the 
immense  tragedy  of  human  life  is  constantly 
forced  into  notice  ;  and  in  no  place  in  the  wide 
world  is  there  more  tragedy  in  every-day  life 
than  in  peaceful  and  pious  New  England. 

Change  of  residence  was  not  so  simple  an 
affair  with  me  as  it  is  with  the  birds ;  would 
that  it  were  !  I  had  to  spend  half  a  day  pack- 
ing, and  another  half  undoing  the  work.  I  had 
to  secure  another  temporary  home,  where  cer- 
tain conveniences  to  which  we  human  beings  are 
slaves  should  not  be  lacking,  and  with  a  family 
one  could  endure  under  the  same  roof.  All  this 
must  needs  be  settled  before  I  could  call  on 
my  new  neighbors.  Time  and  patience  accom- 
plished everything,  although  the  mercury  was 
soaring  aloft  among  the  nineties  all  the  time  ; 
and  at  last  came  the  morning  when  I  seated 
myself  before  the  household  I  proposed  to  inter- 
view for  the  benefit  of  the  readers  of  our  day, 
who  demand  (say  the  newspaper  authorities) 
facts  and  details  of  daily  lives  that  were  of  old 
considered  private  matters. 

On  these  lines,  therefore,  I  proceeded  to  study 
my  shrikes.  What  I  discovered  by  watching 
early  and  late,  by  peeping  at  them  before  break- 
fast and  spying  upon  them  after  supper,  —  what 


48  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

they  eat  and  drink,  how  they  behave  to  one  an- 
other and  their  neighbors,  what  they  have  to  say 
or  to  sing,  in  fact,  their  whole  story  so  far  as  it 
was  revealed  to  me,  —  I  shall  set  down,  nothing 
extenuating.  Other  observers  may  have  seen 
very  different  things,  but  that  only  proves  what 
I  am  constantly  asserting :  that  birds  are  indi- 
viduals ;  that  because  one  shrike  does  a  certain 
thing  is  no  sign  that  another  will  do  the  same  ; 
it  is  not  safe  to  judge  the  species  en  masse. 
This,  therefore,  is  the  true  chronicle  of  what  I 
saw  of  one  pair  of  loggerhead  shrikes  (Lanius 
ludovicianus*),in  the  northern  extremity  of  Ver- 
mont, about  the  first  of  July,  1894. 

The  discovery  of  the  nest  in  the  thorn-tree 
was  not  my  own.  A  friend  and  fellow  bird- 
lover,  driving  one  evening  up  this  road,  startled 
a  bird  from  the  nest,  and,  checking  her  horse, 
looked  on  in  amazement  while,  one  after  an- 
other, six  full-grown  shrikes  emerged  from  the 
tree  and  flew  away.  Pondering  this  strange  cir- 
cumstance she  drove  on,  and  when  returning 
looked  sharply  out  for  the  thorn-tree.  This 
time  one  bird  flew  from  the  nest,  which  seemed 
to  settle  the  question  of  ownership.  The  next 
day  and  the  next  this  experience  was  repeated, 
and  then  the  news  was  brought  to  me  in  the 
woods. 

It  was  a  lonely  road,  leading  to  nothing  except 


A   LONELY  ROAD.  49 

a  pasture  and  a  distant  farm  or  two,  and  the 
presence  of  a  member  of  the  human  race  was 
almost  as  rare  as  it  was  in  the  forest  itself.  On 
one  side  stretched  a  pasture  with  high  rail  fence  ; 
on  the  other,  a  meadow  guarded  by  barbed  wire. 
A  traveler  over  this  uninviting  way  soon  left 
the  last  house  in  the  village  behind,  and  then 
the  only  human  dwellings  in  sight  were  some 
deserted  farm  buildings  on  a  hill  a  mile  or  more 
away.  Not  a  tree  offered  grateful  shade,  and 
not  a  bush  relieved  the  bare  monotony  of  this 
No  Thoroughfare. 

But  it  had  its  full  share  of  feathered  resi- 
dents. Just  beyond  the  last  house,  a  wren,  bub- 
bling over  with  joy,  always  poured  out  his  en- 
chanting little  song  as  I  passed.  Under  the 
deep  grass  of  the  meadow  dwelt  bobolinks  and 
meadow  larks  ;  from  the  pasture  rose  the  silver 
threadlike  song  of  the  savanna  sparrow  and  the 
martial  note  of  the  kingbird.  Occasionally  I 
had  a  call  from  a  family  of  flickers,  or  golden- 
wings,  from  the  woods  beyond  the  pasture ;  the 
four  young  ones  naive  and  imperative  in  their 
manners,  bowing  vehemently,  with  emphatic 
"  peauk  "  that  seemed  to  demand  the  reason  of 
my  presence  in  their  world  ;  while  the  more  ex- 
perienced elders  uttered  their  low  "  ka-ka-ka," 
whether  of  warning  to  the  young  or  of  pride  in 
their  spirit  one  could  only  guess.  A  hard-work- 


50  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

ing  oriole  papa,  with  a  peremptory  youngster  in 
tow,  now  and  then  appeared  in  the  pasture  ;  and 
swallows,  both  barn  and  eave,  came  in  merry, 
chattering  flocks  from  their  homes  at  the  edge 
of  the  village. 

About  the  middle  of  the  long  stretch  of  road 
was  a  solitary  maple-tree,  and  about  thirty  feet 
from  it,  and  just  within  the  pasture  fence,  the 
thorn,  and  the  nest  of  my  hopes.  Approaching 
quietly  on  that  first  morning,  I  unfolded  my 
camp-chair  and  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  the 
maple.  The  thorn-tree  before  me  was  perhaps 
fifteen  feet  high.  It  divided  near  the  ground 
into  two  branches,  which  drew  apart,  bent  over, 
and  became  nearly  horizontal  at  their  extremi- 
ties. On  one  of  these  main  stems,  near  the  end, 
where  it  was  not  more  than  an  inch  and  a  half 
in  diameter,  with  neither  cross-branch  nor  twig 
to  make  it  secure,  was  placed  the  nest.  It  was 
a  large  structure,  at  least  twice  the  size  of  a 
robin's  nest,  made  apparently  of  coarse  twigs 
and  roots,  with  what  looked  like  bits  of  turf  or 
moss  showing  through  the  sides,  and  why  it  did 
not  fall  off  in  the  first  strong  wind  was  a  mys- 
tery. Parallel  with  the  limb  on  which  it  rested, 
and  only  a  few  inches  above  it,  was  another 
branch,  that  must,  one  would  think,  be  seriously 
in  the  way  of  the  coming  and  going,  the  feeding 
and  care-taking,  inseparable  from  life  in  the 
nest. 


THE  NEST   IN    VIEW.  51 

From  my  post  of  observation,  the  thorn-tree 
was  silhouetted  against  the  sky,  for  it  stood  on 
the  edge  of  a  slight  descent.  Every  twig  and 
leaf  was  distinctly  visible,  while  the  openings  in 
the  foliage  were  so  numerous  that  not  a  wing 
could  flit  by  without  my  seeing  it.  The  nest 
itself  was  partially  veiled  by  a  bunch  of  leaves. 
What  the  view  might  be  from  the  other  side  I 
did  not  investigate  that  morning  ;  I  preferred  to 
leave  the  birds  the  slight  screen  afforded  by  the 
foliage,  for  since  there  could  be  no  pretense  of 
hiding  myself  from  them,  my  desire  was  to  let 
them  fancy  themselves  hidden  from  me,  and  so 
feel  free  from  constraint  and  be  natural  in  their 
actions.  I  hoped,  by  approaching  quietly  .and 
unobtrusively,  by  being  careful  never  to  frighten 
or  disturb  them  in  any  way,  to  convince  them 
that  I  was  harmless,  and  to  induce  them  to  for- 
get, or  at  least  ignore,  my  silent  presence.  And 
it  seemed  possible  that  I  might  be  gratified,  for 
I  had  been  seated  but  a  few  minutes  when  a 
shrike  flew  up  from  the  ground  and  entered  the 
nest,  and,  I  was  pleased  to  see,  with  no  apparent 
concern  about  me. 

For  the  next  three  hours  I  took  my  eyes  off 
the  nest  only  to  follow  the  movements  of  the 
owners  thereof ;  and  I  learned  that  sitting  had 
begun,  and  that  the  brooding  bird  was  fed  by 
her  mate.  He  came,  always  from  a  distance, 


52  A    THORN-TREE  NEST. 

directly  to  the  nest,  alighted  on  the  edge,  leaned 
over  and  gave  one  poke  downward,  while  low 
yearning  or  pleading  cries  reached  my  ears. 
Without  lingering  an  instant  he  flew  to  a  perch 
a  foot  above,  stood  there  half  a  minute,  and  then 
went  to  the  ground.  Not  more  than  thirty  sec- 
onds elapsed  before  he  returned  to  his  mate,  the 
cries  greeted  him,  the  mouthful  was  adminis- 
tered, and  he  took  his  leave  in  exactly  the  same 
way  as  before.  He  was  a  personage  of  methodi- 
cal habits.  This  little  performance  of  seeking 
food  on  the  ground  and  carrying  it  to  his  part- 
ner on  the  nest  was  repeated  five  or  six  times 
in  close  succession,  and  then  he  rose  higher  than 
his  tree  and  took  flight  for  a  distant  hill,  look- 
ing, as  he  flew,  like  a  fluttering  bit  of  black-and- 
white  patchwork.  On  further  acquaintance,  I 
found  this  to  be  the  regular  habit  of  the  bird : 
to  come  to  his  nest  and  feed  his  mate  thor- 
oughly, and  then  to  take  himself  away  for  about 
half  an  hour,  though  later  he  fell  to  lingering 
and  watching  me. 

Left  thus  alone  and  well  fed,  madam  was 
quiet  for  some  time,  perhaps  ten  minutes,  and 
then  she  went  out  for  exercise  or  for  lunch  ; 
flying  directly  to  the  ground  near  the  tree,  and 
returning  in  a  few  minutes  to  her  place. 

On  one  occasion  I  saw  what  sort  of  food  the 
shrike  collected.  He  had  alighted  on  the  wire 


FEEDING   HIS   MATE.  53 

fence,  apparently  to  inquire  into  my  business, 
when  his  eyes  fell  upon  something  desirable  — 
from  his  point  of  view.  Instantly  he  dropped 
to  the  road,  picked  up  a  black  object,  worm  or 
beetle,  an  inch  long,  and  took  it  at  once  to  his 
mate.  Sometimes  he  carried  his  prey  to  a  post, 
and  beat  it  a  while  before  presenting  it  to  her  ; 
and  one  evening,  somewhat  later  than  usual,  he 
was  found  industriously  gleaning  food  from  the 
hosts  of  the  air,  flying  up  in  the  manner  of  a 
flycatcher,  and  to  all  appearance  with  perfect 
success. 

The  loggerhead  shrike  is  one  of  our  most 
beautiful  birds,  clear  blue-gray  above,  and  snowy 
white  below.  His  black  wings  are  elegantly 
marked  with  white,  and  his  black  tail,  when 
spread  like  a  fan,  as  he  wheels  to  alight,  show- 
ing broad  tips  and  outer  feathers  of  white,  is 
one  of  his  most  striking  marks.  He  is  a  little 
smaller  than  a  robin,  and  his  mate  is  of  the 
same  size,  and  as  finely  dressed  as  he.  The 
resemblance  he  is  said  to  bear  to  the  mocking- 
bird I  have  never  been  able  to  see.  His  form, 
his  size,  his  coloring,  and  his  movements  are,  to 
my  sight,  in  every  way  different  from  those  of 
the  southern  bird. 

The  manners  of  the  shrike  are  as  fine  as  one 
would  expect  from  so  distinguished-looking  a 
personage,  dignified,  reposeful,  and  unusually 


54  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

silent.  I  have  seen  him,  once  or  twice,  flirt  his 
half-opened  tail  and  jerk  his  wings,  but  he 
rarely  showed  even  so  much  impatience  or  rest- 
lessness. He  sat  on  the  fence  and  regarded 
me,  or  he  drove  away  an  intrusive  neighbor, 
with  the  same  calm  and  serious  air  with  which 
he  did  everything.  I  have  heard  of  pranks  and 
fantastic  performances,  of  strange,  uncouth,  and 
absurd  cries,  and  of  course  it  is  impossible  to 
say  what  vagaries  he  might  have  indulged  in 
if  he  had  thought  himself  unobserved,  but  in 
many  hours  and  days  of  close  study  of  this  bird 
I  saw  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  only  utterance 
I  heard  from  him,  excepting  his  song,  of  which 
I  shall  speak  presently,  was  a  rattling  cry  with 
which  he  pursued  an  intruder,  and  a  soft,  coax- 
ing "  yeap "  when  he  came  to  the  nest  and 
found  his  mate  absent. 

One  of  the  most  prominent  traits  of  this  bird, 
as  we  find  him  depicted  in  the  books  and  the 
popular  writings,  is  his  quarrelsome  and  cruel 
disposition  ;  and  "  brigand,"  "  assassin,"  "mur- 
derer," and  "  butcher "  are  names  commonly 
applied  to  him. 

I  watched  the  shrike  several  hours  daily  for 
weeks,  and  from  the  first  I  was  every  moment 
on  the  alert  for  the  slightest  manifestation  of 
these  characteristics  ;  and  what  did  I  find  out? 
First  as  to  his  quarrelsome  disposition,  his 


FRIENDLY  RELATIONS.  55 

unfriendliness  with  his  own  species.  I  have 
already  spoken  of  the  amicable  association,  in 
the  very  nesting-tree,  of  half  a  dozen  of  the 
birds,  as  reported  by  a  trustworthy  and  experi- 
enced observer.  On  one  occasion,  somewhat 
later,  I  saw  an  exhibition  of  a  similar  friend- 
liness among  four  adult  shrikes.  They  were 
frolicking  about  another  thorn-tree  in  the  same 
pasture,  in  the  most  peaceful  manner ;  and 
while  I  looked,  one  of  them  picked  up  a  tidbit 
from  the  ground  and  flew  to  the  nest  I  was 
watching,  thus  proving  that  the  nesting-bird 
was  one  of  the  group.  At  least  twice  after- 
ward, when  silently  approaching  the  nest,  I 
found  two  other  shrikes  hopping  about  with  the 
one  I  was  studying,  on  the  ground,  almost  under 
the  tree.  On  my  appearance  the  strangers  flew, 
and  the  nest-owner  went  up  to  his  mate  with  an 
offering.  We  do  not  think  of  calling  the  robin 
or  bluebird  particularly  quarrelsome,  yet  fancy 
one  of  these  birds  allowing  another  of  his  spe- 
cies to  come  to  his  home-tree  !  Every  close  ob- 
server of  bird- ways  knows  that  it  is  apparently 
the  first  article  in  the  avian  creed  to  keep  every 
other  bird  away  from  the  nest. 

And  how  did  the  terrible  "  brigand  "  treat 
his  neighbors  ?  The  robin,  indeed,  he  drove 
away,  but  meadow  larks  sang  and  "  sputtered  " 
at  their  pleasure,  not  only  beside  him  on  the 


56  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

fence,  but  on  his  own  small  tree  ;  goldfinches 
flew  over,  singing  and  calling,  and  no  notice 
was  taken  of  them ;  sparrows  hopped  about 
among  the  branches  of  the  thorn  at  their  dis- 
cretion ;  a  chickadee  one  day  made  searching 
examination  of  nearly  every  twig  and  leaf,  go- 
ing close  to  and  over  the  nest,  where  the  sitting 
bird  must  have  seen  him,  yet  not  a  peep  arose. 
Sometimes,  when  madam  left  her  nest  for  re- 
freshment, she  would  sweep  by  a  bird  who  hap- 
pened to  be  on  the  tree,  thus  making  him  fly, 
but  she  never  followed  or  showed  any  special 
interest  in  him.  Whatever  other  shrikes  may 
be  or  do,  at  least  this  pair,  and  the  three  or  four 
others  who  visited  them,  were  amiable  with 
their  neighbors,  small  as  well  as  great. 

If  bravery  is  a  virtue,  —  and  why  is  it  not,  in 
feathers  as  well  as  in  broadcloth  ?  —  the  shrike 
should  stand  high  in  our  estimation,  for  he  does 
not  hesitate  to  attack  and  make  his  prey  ani- 
mals which  few  birds  of  his  size  dare  touch  ; 
not  only  mice,  but  creatures  as  well  armed  as 
gophers  and  others. 

I  was  particularly  desirous  to  hear  the  song 
of  the  shrike.  He  is  not  classed  with  singing 
birds,  and  is  not,  I  think,  usually  credited  with 
being  musical.  But  Thoreau  speaks  of  his  song, 
and  others  mention  it.  John  Burroughs  tells  of 
a  shrike  singing  in  his  vicinity  in  winter,  "a 


THE   SHRIKE'S   SONG.  57 

crude  broken  warble,"  —  "  saluting  the  sun  as  a 
robin  might  have  done."  Winter,  indeed,  seems 
to  be  his  chosen  time  for  singing,  and  an  orni- 
thologist in  St.  Albans  says  that  in  that  season 
he  sings  by  the  hour  in  the  streets  of  the  town. 

Therefore  did  I  sit  unobtrusively  on  the  near 
side  of  the  thorn-tree,  leaving  the  birds  their 
screen,  to  encourage  them  to  sing ;  and  at  last 
I  had  my  reward.  One  very  hot  day  I  did  not 
reach  my  place  under  the  maple  till  after  nine 
o'clock,  and  I  found  the  shrike,  as  I  frequently 
did,  on  the  fence,  on  guard.  In  a  few  moments, 
when  I  had  become  quiet,  he  went  to  the  nest, 
and  sitting  there  on  the  edge,  hidden  from  my 
distinct  view,  he  condescended  to  sing,  a  low, 
sweet  song,  truly  musical,  though  simple  in  con- 
struction, being  merely  a  single  clear  note  fol- 
lowed by  a  trill  several  tones  higher.  After 
delivering  this  attractive  little  aria  a  do/en  or 
more  times,  he  flew  out  of  the  tree  and  over  my 
head,  and  sang  no  more. 

My  curiosity  about  his  song  being  thus  grati- 
fied, I  decided  to  seek  a  better  post  of  observa- 
tion ;  for  I  hoped  every  day  to  find  that  sitting 
was  over,  and  the  young  had  appeared.  I  there- 
fore walked  farther  up  the  road,  quite  past  the 
tree,  and  took  my  seat  beside  the  fence,  where  I 
could  see  the  whole  nest  perfectly.  The  birds 
at  once  recognized  that  all  hope  of  concealment 


58  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

was  over,  and  became  much  more  wary.  The 
singer  came  less  frequently,  and  was  received  in 
silence.  Also  he  took  me  under  strict  surveil- 
lance, perching  on  a  dead  branch  of  the  maple- 
tree,  and  sitting  there  half  an  hour  at  a  time, 
motionless  but  wide  awake  ;  ready,  110  doubt,  to 
defend  the  nest  if  I  made  hostile  demonstrations 
toward  it. 

For  a  long  time  I  had  my  lonely  road  to  my- 
self, almost  the  sole  passer-by  being  a  boy  who 
drove  the  village  cows  back  and  forth,  and  whom 
I  had  taken  pains  to  interest  in  the  safety  of  the 
little  family.  But  such  a  state  of  things  could 
not  last.  One  morning,  as  I  sat  in  my  usual 
place,  I  noticed  a  party  of  girls  starting  out  with 
baskets  and  pails  after  berries.  They  scattered 
over  the  meadow,  and  while  I  trembled  for 
meadow  lark  and  bobolink  babies,  I  hoped  they 
would  not  see  me  ;  but  one  of  them  came  di- 
rectly to  the  thorn-tree.  As  she  approached,  I 
turned  away,  as  if  I  had  no  particular  interest 
in  the  tree,  but,  unfortunately,  just  as  she  was 
passing,  the  bird  flew  off  the  nest.  The  girl 
looked  up,  and  instantly  shouted  to  me,  "  Oh, 
here 's  a  bird's-nest !  "  "  Yes,"  I  replied,  know- 
ing that  my  best  policy  was  to  claim  it,  "  that 's 
the  nest  I  am  watching."  After  a  sharp  look  at 
the  tree  she  went  on  ;  but  I  was  much  disturbed, 
for  I  regard  a  nest  discovered  almost  the  same 


SEARCHING    THE    THORNS.  59 

as  a  nest  robbed.  Would  she  tell  ?  Should  I 
some  day  find  the  nest  broken  up  or  destroyed  ? 
Every  morning,  after  that,  I  took  my  long, 
lonely  walk  with  misgivings,  and  did  not  feel 
easy  till  I  had  seen  the  birds. 

One  very  notorious  habit  of  the  shrike  I  had 
been  especially  desirous  of  investigating  —  that 
of  impaling  his  prey.  Judging  from  what  has 
been  written  about  him,  it  must  be  a  common 
performance,  his  daily  business,  and  I  confidently 
expected  to  see  his  thorn-tree  adorned,  from 
roots  to  topmost  twig,  with  grasshoppers  and 
beetles,  not  to  mention  small  birds  and  animals. 
Early  in  my  visits  to  him,  I  looked  the  tree  over 
carefully,  and,  not  content  with  my  own  eyes, 
called  in  the  aid  of  a  friend.  Moreover,  we  to- 
gether made  diligent  search  in  the  only  other 
thorn-tree  in  the  vicinity,  one  spoken  of  above. 
Not  a  sign  could  we  discover  in  either  tree  of 
any  such  use  of  a  thorn,  though  thorns  were 
there  in  abundance. 

Again,  one  day  I  saw  the  bird  very  busy 
about  the  barbed-wire  fence,  and  remembering 
to  have  seen  the  statement  that  shrikes  in  the 
West,  where  thorn-trees  are  absent,  impale 
their  grasshoppers  on  the  barbs,  I  thought, 
"  Now  I  have  surely  caught  you  at  it !  "  I  did 
not  disturb  him,  and  he  worked  at  that  spot  some 
time.  But  when  he  had  gone  I  hastened  over  to 


60  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

see  what  beetle  or  bird  he  had  laid  up,  when  be- 
hold, the  barbs  were  as  empty  as  the  thorns.  In 
fact,  I  was  never  able  to  find  the  smallest  evi- 
dence that  the  bird  ever  does  impale  anything, 
and  the  St.  Albans  ornithologist  spoken  of  adds 
as  his  testimony  that  he  has  often  examined  the 
haunts  of  this  bird,  but  has  never  found  any- 
thing impaled.  And  a  correspondent  in  Ver- 
mont writes  me  that  he  watched  the  shrike  for 
twenty  years,  on  purpose  to  see  this  perform- 
ance, and  in  all  that  time  saw  but  three  in- 
stances, one  being  a  field  mouse,  and  the  other 
two  English  sparrows. 

All  this,  of  course,  does  not  prove  that  the 
shrike  never  impales  his  prey,  but  it  does  prove 
that  he  does  not  spend  all  his  time  at  the 
work;  and  while  I  have  no  doubt  he  has  the 
habit,  I  believe  the  accounts  of  it  are  very  much 


On  the  morning  of  the  Fourth  of  July,  a  cool, 
and  in  that  remote  part  of  the  world  a  delight- 
fully quiet  day,  I  felt  an  unaccountable  disincli- 
nation to  make  my  usual  visit  to  the  shrikes. 
Refusing,  however,  to  yield  to  that  feeling,  I 
forced  myself  to  take  the  long  walk,  and  seat 
myself  in  my  usual  place.  But  I  could  not  feel 
much  surprise  when,  after  more  than  an  hour's 
close  watching,  the  birds  failed  to  appear,  and  I 
became  convinced  that  they  were  gone.  Whether 


"PAUPERIZING"  A    BIRD.  61 

shot  by  man  or  boy,  robbed  by  beast  or  bird  or 
human,  it  was  plain  I  had  seen  the  last  of  the 
thorn-tree  family  ;  for  I  knew  positively  that  in 
that  hour  no  one  had  gone  to  or  come  from  the 
nest,  and  I  was  sure,  from  my  knowledge  of  her, 
that  the  sitting  bird  would  not  remain  an  hour 
without  eating,  even  if  her  mate  had  stayed 
away  so  long.  Of  course,  I  concluded,  that  girl 
had  told  her  discovery,  and  some  boy  had  heard, 
and  broken  up  the  home.  I  looked  carefully  on 
every  side.  The  nest  seemed  undisturbed,  but 
not  a  sign  of  life  appeared  about  it,  and  sadly 
enough  I  folded  my  chair  and  went  back  to  the 
village. 

Six  days  passed,  in  which  I  avoided  going  up 
the  lonely  road,  the  scene  of  my  disappointment, 
but  I  turned  my  attention  to  bird  affairs  in  the 
town.  One  case  which  interested  me  greatly 
was  of  "  pauperizing  "  a  bird.  It  was  a  least 
flycatcher,  and  her  undoing  was  her  acceptance 
of  nesting  material,  which  her  human  friend,  the 
oft-mentioned  local  bird-lover,  supplied.  To  se- 
cure a  unique  nest  for  herself,  when  the  fly- 
catcher babies  should  have  abandoned  it,  this 
wily  personage,  who  was  the  accepted  providence 
of  half  the  birds  in  the  vicinity,  and  on  terms  of 
great  familiarity  with  some  of  them,  threw  out 
narrow  strips  of  cloth  of  various  colors,  to  tempt 
the  small  nest-builder.  At  first  the  wise  little 


62  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

madam  refused  to  use  the  gayer  pieces,  but  be- 
ing beguiled  by  the  device  of  sewing  a  bright 
one  between  two  of  duller  hue,  her  scruples  were 
overcome ;  and  after  that  her  fall  into  total  de- 
pendence was  easy  and  complete.  She  accepted 
the  most  brilliant  pieces  that  were  offered,  and 
built  her  nest  therewith. 

But  alas,  from  the  moment  of  yielding  to  her 
vanity  or  her  love  for  ease,  troubles  began  in  the 
flycatcher  family.  The  robin  nesting  in  an  ad- 
joining tree  reproved  her  by  tugging  at  the  gay 
strings  that  hung  out  ;  the  English  sparrow 
across  the  way  set  herself  up  as  a  conservator  of 
morals,  and,  to  teach  Madam  Chebek  modesty 
becoming  her  size,  tried  to  pull  the  whole  to 
pieces.  Then  when  Chebek,  who  is  no  coward, 
had  succeeded  in  putting  an  end  to  neighborly 
interference,  the  nest  began  to  show  a  deplorable 
disinclination  to  "  stay  put."  Whether  the  ma- 
terial could  not  be  properly  fastened,  or  whether 
the  bird  was  so  demoralized  as  to  shirk  ordinary 
precautions,  the  fact  is,  that  every  breeze  shook 
the  little  structure,  and  four  completed  nests  of 
this  unnatural  sort  fell,  one  after  another,  in 
ruins  to  the  ground.  Then  motherly  instinct 
came  to  the  rescue  :  she  refused  further  aid,  re- 
moved herself  to  a  distance,  built  a  new  nest, 
after  the  accredited  flycatcher  fashion,  and  it  is 
supposed  brought  out  her  brood  safely,  if  rather 


STRANGE    CRIES    UP   THE   ROAD.  63 

late.  So  hard  it  is  in  the  bird-world,  as  in  the 
human,  to  help,  and  not  hurt. 

More  interesting,  even,  than  this  flycatcher 
episode  was  an  adventure  one  evening  when  I 
walked  far  out  on  a  road,  one  side  of  which  was 
deep  woods,  while  the  other  was  bordered  by 
pasture  and  meadows.  My  object  in  going  was 
to  hear  a  white-throated  sparrow,  who  often  sang 
in  that  vicinity. 

I  had  been  resting  on  my  camp-stool  very 
quietly  for  half  an  hour,  and  was  just  thinking 
it  time  to  return  home,  when  a  strange  sort  of 
clacking  cry  startled  me.  At  first  I  thought  it 
was  made  by  a  frog  with  a  bad  cold  ;  but  it  grew 
louder,  and  changed  in  quality,  till  it  became  a 
whining  sound  that  might  be  made  either  by  a 
baby  or  by  some  small  animal.  I  looked  very 
carefully  up  the  road  whence  the  sound  seemed 
to  come,  but  saw  nothing  excepting  a  robin,  who, 
perched  on  the  highest  post  of  a  fence,  was  look- 
ing and  listening  with  great  apparent  interest, 
but  without  making  a  sound  himself,  —  a  very 
unusual  proceeding  on  the  part  of  this  bird,  who 
always  has  a  great  deal  to  say  about  everything. 

The  cries  increased  in  volume  and  frequency, 
and  I  started  slowly  up  the  road,  uncertain 
whether  I  should  come  upon  a  young  fox  or 
other  wild  beast,  but  determined  to  solve  the 
mystery.  As  I  drew  near,  I  began  to  be  con- 


64  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

scions  of  a  knocking  sound  in  the  woods  beside 
the  road.  It  was  like  a  light  tapping  on  hollow 
wood,  and  it  regularly  followed  each  cry.  I  was 
at  once  reassured.  It  must  be  a  woodpecker, 
I  thought,  —  they  make  some  strange  noises, 
and  there  was  a  large  one,  the  pileated,  said  to 
inhabit  these  woods,  though  I  had  never  been 
able  to  see  him.  I  went  on  more  confidently 
then,  for  I  must  see  what  woodpecker  baby 
could  utter  such  cries.  As  I  continued  to  ad- 
vance, though  I  could  still  see  nothing,  I  noticed 
that  the  tapping  grew  louder  every  moment. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  movement  at  the  edge 
of  a  thick  clump  of  ferns,  and  my  eyes  fell  upon 
what  I  thought  was,  after  all,  a  big  toad  or  frog. 
It  hopped  like  one  of  these  reptiles,  and  as  it 
was  growing  dusky,  feathers  and  fur  and  bare 
skin  looked  much  alike.  But  being  anxious  to 
know  positively,  I  went  on,  and  when  I  reached 
it  I  saw  that  it  was  a  young  bird,  nearly  as  big 
as  a  robin  just  out  of  the  nest.  Then  I  dropped 
all  impedimenta,  and  gave  myself  unreservedly 
to  the  catching  of  that  bird.  He  fled  under  the 
ferns,  which  were  like  a  thick  mat,  and  I  stooped 
and  parted  them,  he  flying  ever  ahead  till  he 
reached  the  end  and  came  out  in  sight.  Then  I 
pounced  upon  him,  and  had  him  in  my  hands. 

Such  a  shriek  as  he  gave  !  while  he  struggled 
and  bit,  and  proved  himself  very  savage  indeed. 


A    VOCIFEROUS   BABY.  65 

More  startling,  however,  than  his  protest  was  a 
cry  of  anguish  that  answered  it  from  the  woods, 
a  heart-rending,  terrible  cry,  the  wail  of  a 
mother  about  to  be  bereaved.  I  looked  up,  and 
lo !  in  plain  sight,  in  her  agony  forgetting  her 
danger,  and  begging  by  every  art  in  her  power, 
a  cuckoo.  Her  distress  went  to  my  heart ;  I 
could  not  resist  her  pleading.  One  instant  I 
held  that  vociferous  cuckoo  baby,  to  have  a  good 
look  at  him,  speaking  soothingly  to  the  mother 
the  while,  and  then  opened  my  hand,  when  he 
half  flew,  half  scrambled,  to  the  other  side  of 
the  road,  and  set  up  another  cry,  more  like  that 
of  his  mother.  Seeing  her  infant  at  liberty,  she 
slipped  back  into  the  woods  and  resumed  the 
calls,  which  sounded  so  remarkably  like  tapping, 
while  he  started  up  the  road,  answering ;  and 
thus  I  left  them. 

Several  times  after  that,  I  heard  from  the 
woods  —  for 

"  The  cnckoo  delights  in  the  cool  leafy  shadows 
Where  the  nest  and  its  treasures  are  rocked  by  the  breeze  "  — 

the  same  strange  calling  of  a  cuckoo  mother,  a 
weird,  unearthly,  knocking  sound,  not  in  the 
least  like  the  ordinary  "  kuk !  kuk  !  "  of  the 
bird.  I  should  never  have  suspected  that  it  was 
anything  but  the  tap  of  an  unusually  cautious 
woodpecker,  if  I  had  not  caught  her  at  it  that 
night. 


66  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

On  the  sixth  evening  after  I  had  thought  my- 
self bereaved  of  the  shrikes,  I  went  out  for  a 
walk  with  my  friend,  and  we  turned  our  steps 
into  the  lonely  road.  As  we  approached  the 
thorn,  what  was  my  surprise  to  see  the  shrike  in 
his  old  place  on  the  fence,  and,  after  waiting  a 
few  minutes,  to  see  his  mate  go  to  the  ground 
for  her  lunch,  as  if  nothing  had  happened ! 

Then  they  had  not  deserted !  But  how  and 
why  all  life  about  the  nest  had  been  suspended 
for  one  hour  on  the  Fourth  of  July  is  a  puzzle 
to  this  day.  However  it  may  have  happened,  I 
was  delighted  to  find  the  birds  safe,  and  at  once 
resumed  iny  study ;  going  out  the  next  morning 
as  usual,  staying  some  hours,  and  again  toward 
night  for  another  visit. 

Now  I  was  sure  it  must  be  time  for  the  young 
to  be  out,  for  I  knew  positively  that  the  bird 
had  been  sitting  fourteen  days,  and  twenty-one 
days  had  passed  since  she  was  frightened  off  her 
nest  twice  in  one  day. 

I  redoubled  my  vigilance,  but  I  saw  no  change 
in  the  manners  of  the  pair  till  the  morning  of 
July  12th.  All  night  there  had  been  a  heavy 
downpour,  and  the  morning  broke  dismally,  with 
strong  wind  and  a  drizzling  rain.  I  knew  the 
lonely  road  would  be  most  unattractive,  but  no 
vagaries  of  wind  or  weather  could  keep  me  away 
at  this  crisis.  I  found  it  all  that  I  had  antici- 


STUDY    UNDER   DIFFICULTIES.  67 

pated  —  and  more.  The  clay  soil  was  cut  up 
from  fence  to  fence  by  cows'  feet,  and  whether 
it  presented  an  unbroken  puddle  or  a  succession 
of  small  ones  made  by  the  hoof-prints,  it  was 
everywhere  so  slippery  that  retaining  one's  foot- 
ing was  no  slight  task,  and  of  course  there  was 
no  pretense  of  a  sidewalk.  Add  to  this  the  dif- 
ficulty of  holding  an  umbrella  against  the  fierce 
gusts,  and  it  may  be  imagined  that  my  pathway 
that  morning  was  not  "  strewn  with  roses." 

In  some  fashion,  however,  I  did  at  last  reach 
the  thorn-tree,  planted  my  chair  in  the  least  wet 
spot  I  could  find,  and,  tucking  my  garments  up 
from  the  ground,  sat  down.  At  first  I  discarded 
my  unmanageable  umbrella,  till  the  raindrops 
obscuring  my  opera-glass  forced  me  to  open  it 
again.  And  all  these  preliminaries  had  to  be 
settled  before  I  could  so  much  as  look  at  the 
nest. 

Something  had  happened,  as  I  saw  at  once; 
the  manners  of  the  birds  were  very  different 
from  what  they  had  been  all  these  days  I  had 
been  studying  them.  Both  of  them  were  at  the 
nest  when  I  looked,  but  in  a  moment  one  flew, 
and  the  other  slipped  into  her  old  seat,  though 
not  so  entirely  into  it  as  usual.  Heretofore  she 
had  been  able  to  hide  herself  so  completely  that 
it  was  impossible  to  tell  whether  she  were  there 
or  not.  Even  the  tail,  which  in  most  birds  is 


68  A    THORN-TREE   NEST. 

the  unconcealable  banner  that  proclaims  to  the 
bird-student  that  the  sitter  is  at  home,  even  this 
unruly  member  she  had  been  able  to  hide  in 
some  way,  but  this  morning  it  remained  visible. 
In  a  minute  the  shrike  returned  and  fed  some- 
body,—  I  suppose  his  mate,  since  she  did  not 
move  aside ;  and  again  in  another  minute  he 
repeated  the  operation.  So  he  went  on  bringing 
food  perhaps  a  dozen  times  in  close  succession. 
Then  he  rested  a  few  minutes,  when  she  who 
through  the  long  days  of  sitting  had  been  so 
calm  and  quiet  seemed  all  at  once  as  restless  as 
any  warbler.  She  rose  on  the  edge  of  the  nest, 
and  uttered  the  low,  yearning  cry  I  had  heard 
from  him,  then  flew  to  the  ground,  returned, 
perched  on  the  edge,  leaned  over,  and  gave  three 
pokes  as  if  feeding.  Then  she  flew  to  another 
part  of  the  tree,  thence  to  a  fence  post,  then  back 
again  to  the  edge  of  the  nest.  In  a  moment  the 
uneasy  bird  slipped  into  her  old  place,  but,  ap- 
parently too  restless  to  stay,  was  out  again  in  a 
few  seconds,  when  she  stood  up  in  the  nest  and 
began  calling,  —  a  loud  but  musical  two-note 
call,  the  second  tone  a  third  higher  than  the 
first,  and  different  from  anything  I  had  heard 
from  her  before.  If  it  were  a  call  to  her  mate, 
he  did  not  at  once  appear,  and  she  relieved  her 
feelings  by  flying  to  the  maple  and  perching  a 
few  minutes,  though  so  great  was  the  attraction 


LOVELY,   INNOCENT    YOUNGLINGS.          69 

at  home  that  she  could  stay  away  but  a  short 
time. 

Of  course  I  concluded  from  all  this  that  the 
young  shrikes  were  out,  and  I  longed  with  all 
my  heart  to  stay  and  watch  the  charming  pro- 
cess of  changing  from  the  ungainly  creatures 
they  were  at  that  moment  to  the  full-grown  and 
feathered  beauties  they  would  be  when  they  ap- 
peared on  the  tree  ;  to  see  them  getting  their 
education,  learning  to  follow  their  parents  about, 
and  finally  seeking  their  own  food,  still  keeping 
together  in  a  family  party,  as  I  had  seen  them 
once  before,  elsewhere,  —  lovely,  innocent  young- 
lings whom  surely  no  one  could  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  call  "  butchers  "  or  "assassins."  Then, 
too,  I  wanted  to  see  the  head  of  the  family,  who 
in  the  character  of  spouse  had  shown  himself  so 
devoted,  so  above  reproach,  in  the  new  role  of 
father  and  teacher,  in  which  I  had  no  doubt  he 
would  be  equally  admirable. 

But  dearly  as  I  love  birds,  there  are  other  ties 
still  dearer,  and  just  then  there  came  a  call  that 
made  me  leave  the  pair  with  their  new  joy,  pack 
my  trunks,  and  speed,  night  and  day,  half  way 
across  the  continent,  beyond  the  Great  Divide,  to 
a  certain  cozy  valley  in  the  heart  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 

Before  I  left,  however,  I  committed  the  little 
family  in  the  thorn-tree  to  the  care  of  my  friend 


70  A    THORN-TREE  NEST. 

the  bird-lover;  and  a  few  weeks  later  there 
came  over  the  mountains  to  me  this  conclusion 
to  the  story,  written  by  Mrs.  Nelly  Hart  Wood- 
worth,  of  St.  Albans :  — 

"  I  was  at  the  shrikes'  nest  Thursday  last.  I 
sat  down  on  the  knoll  beyond  the  nest,  and 
waited  quietly  for  fifteen  minutes.  No  signs  of 
life  in  nest  or  neighborhood,  save  the  yearning 
cry  of  the  lark,  as  it  alighted  on  the  top  of  the 
thorn-tree.  After  I  was  convinced  that,  in  some 
unaccountable  manner,  the  shrikes  had  been 
spirited  away  before  they  were  half  big  enough, 
I  changed  my  place  to  the  other  side  of  the 
tree,  out  of  sight  from  the  nest.  When  I  had 
been  there  for  a  long  time,  I  heard  distinctly  a 
low  whispering  in  the  nest,  and  lo  !  the  butcher 
babies  had  become  sentient  beings,  and  were 
talking  very  softly  and  sweetly  among  them- 
selves. They  had  evidently  miscalculated  about 
my  departure.  Then  two  or  three  little  heads 
stuck  out  above  the  edge,  and  the  soft  stirring 
of  baby  wings  was  apparent.  They  cuddled 
and  nestled  and  turned  themselves,  and  one 
little  butcher  hoisted  himself  upon  the  upper 
side  of  the  nest,  stood  upright  briefly  and  beat 
his  wings,  then  sank  into  the  nest,  which  was  full 
of  life  and  movement.  So  much  for  that  day. 

"  Friday  one  stood  upon  the  edge  of  the  nest, 
and  others  looked  out,  but  no  feeding  bird  came. 


SHAKEN  OUT   OF   THE   NEST.  71 

"  Saturday  I  was  in  fortune,  as  I  met  in  the 
vicinity  the  boy  who  drives  the  village  cows. 
Two  heads  only  were  visible  over  the  edge. 
But  the  boy,  with  a  boy's  genius  for  investiga- 
tion, brought  a  fence  rail,  put  it  under  the 
branch,  and  shook  them  up  a  little.  They  only 
huddled  closer.  At  my  suggestion  he  gave  a 
more  vigorous  shake,  and  a  baby  climbed  from 
the  nest,  a  foot  or  two  above,  then  flew  as  well 
as  anybody  clear  up  into  the  top  of  the  tree. 
Such  a  pretty  baby !  breast  white  as  snow, 
lovely  black  crescent  through  the  eyes,  and  the 
dearest  little  tail  imaginable,  half  an  inch  long, 
and  flirted  up  and  down  continually. 

"  The  other  bird  —  for  there  were  but  two  — 
ran  up  the  twigs  for  two  feet,  but  quickly  re- 
turned to  the  nest,  and  would  not  leave  it  again, 
though  we  could  see  its  wondering  eyes  look 
out  and  peer  at  us.  Both  were  gone  the  next 
day  (twelve  days  old).  And  thus  endeth  the 
butcher  episode." 

Now  also  must  end  —  for  a  time  —  my  study 
of  this  interesting  bird.  But  I  shall  not  forget 
it,  and  I  shall  seek  occasion  to  study  it  again 
and  again,  till  I  have  proved,  if  I  find  it  true, 
that  the  shrike  deserves  better  of  us  than  the 
character  we  have  given  him  ;  that  he  is  not 
nearly  "  so  black  as  he  is  painted." 


IV. 

THE   WITCHING  WREN. 

"  There  is  madness  about  thee,  and  joy  divine 
In  that  song  of  thine." 

THE  song  of  the  winter  wren  is  something 
that  must  be  heard  to  be  appreciated ;  words 
can  no  more  describe  it  than  they  can  paint  the 
sky  at  evening,  or  translate  the  babble  of  the 
mountain  brook. 

"  Canst  thou  copy  in  verse  one  chime 
Of  the  wood  bird's  peal  and  cry  ?  " 

This  witching  carol,  one  of  nature's  most  allur- 
ing bits  of  music,  fell  upon  my  ear  for  the  first 
time  one  memorable  morning  in  June.  It  was 
a  true  siren-strain.  We  forgot,  my  comrade 
and  I,  what  we  were  seeking  in  the  woods. 
The  junco  family,  in  their  snug  cave  among  the 
roots,  so  interesting  to  us  but  now,  might  all  fly 
away  ;  the  oven-bird,  in  the  little  hollow  beside 
the  path,  might  finish  her  lace-lined  domicile, 
and  the  shy  tanager  conclude  to  occupy  the  nest 
on  the  living  arch  from  which  we  had  fright- 
ened her,  —  all  without  our  being  there  to  see. 
For  the  moment  we  cared  for  but  one  thing,  — 


THE   DOG   BECOMES   INTERESTED.          73 

to  follow  that  "  wandering  voice,"  to  see  that 
singer. 

Silently  we  arose,  folded  our  camp-stools,  and 
started.  We  wished  to  move  without  sound ;  but 
the  woods  were  dry,  and  every  dead  stick  snapped 
"with  a  crack;  every  fallen  leaf  rustled  with 
a  startling  sound ;  every  squirrel  under  whose 
tree  we  chanced  to  pass  first  shrieked,  and  then 
subsided  into  a  sobbing  cry  or  a  scolding  bark, 
according  as  his  fur  was  gray  or  red.  A  pro- 
cession of  elephants  could  hardly  make  more 
noise,  or  create  more  consternation  among  the 
residents  of  the  forest,  than  we  three  (count- 
ing the  dog),  when  we  wished  to  be  silent  as 
shadows.  But  the  wren  sang  on.  Evidently, 
he  was  accustomed  to  squirrel  vagaries,  and 
snapping  twigs  did  not  disturb  him.  Nearer 
and  nearer  sounded  the  song,  and  more  and 
more  enraptured  we  became.  We  were  settling 
ourselves  to  listen  and  to  look  for  our  charmer, 
when  the  third  member  of  our  party  created  a 
diversion.  Wrens  had  no  attraction  for  him, 
but  he  came  upon  the  scent  of  something  he 
was  interested  in,  and  instantly  fell  to  pawing 
the  ground  and  tearing  up  the  obstructing  roots 
with  his  teeth,  as  though  he  had  gone  suddenly 
mad. 

The  door  through  which  had  doubtless  van- 
ished some  delectable  mouse  or  mole  was,  when 


74  THE    WITCHING    WREN. 

discovered,  of  a  proper  size  for  his  small  body, 
but  in  less  than  a  minute  it  was  big  enough  to 
admit  the  enormous  head  of  the  dog,  who  varied 
his  eager  tearing  up  of  the  soil  with  burying  his 
head  and  shoulders  in  the  hole  he  had  made ; 
smelling  and  listening  a  few  seconds,  then  jerk- 
ing it  out  with  a  great  snort,  and  devoting  him- 
self with  fresh  vigor  to  digging.  It  was  a  curi- 
ous contrast  to  the  indifference  with  which  he 
usually  accompanied  us,  but  it  proved  that  he 
had  his  enthusiasms,  if  he  did  not  share  ours. 
We  could  not  but  be  amused,  notwithstanding 
the  delicious  trilling  notes  that  drew  us  grew 
fainter  and  fainter,  and  we  despaired  of  seeing 
our  songster  till  the  important  affairs  of  that 
mouse  should  be  settled.  Arguments  were  of 
no  avail  with  the  four-footed  sportsman,  a  rival 
attraction  failed  to  attract,  and  commands  were 
thrown  away  on  him  in  his  excited  state.  We 
were  forced  to  go  home  without  the  sight  we 
desired. 

We  were  not  the  first  to  be  fascinated  by  this 
marvelous  melody.  "  Dull  indeed  must  be  the 
ear  that  thrills  not  on  hearing  it,"  says  Audu- 
bon,  and  its  effect  upon  him  is  worth  telling. 
He  was  traveling  through  a  swamp,  where  he 
had  reason  to  suspect  the  presence  of  venomous 
snakes  and  other  reptiles.  While  moving  with 
great  circumspection,  looking  out  for  these  un- 


FOREST  SOUNDS.  t5 

welcome  neighbors,  the  captivating  little  aria 
burst  upon  his  ear.  Instantly  snakes  were  for- 
gotten, his  absorbing  passion  took  full  posses- 
sion, and  he  crashed  recklessly  through  the 
briers  and  laurels  in  pursuit.  It  is  pleasant  to 
know,  further,  that  he  found  not  only  the  singer, 
but  his  nest,  which  was  the  first  he  had  ever 
seen,  and  gave  him  a  delight  known  only  to  en- 
thusiastic bird-lovers. 

The  morning  after  the  absurd  incident  of  a 
mouse-hunt,  by  the  dog  who  in  his  character  of 
protector  was  our  daily  companion,  we  started 
out  afresh,  with  ears  for  nothing  but  wren  songs. 
Making  a  wide  detour  to  avoid  the  scene  of  yes- 
terday's excitement,  we  were  soon  comfortably 
seated  near  the  spot  the  wren  seemed  to  haunt, 
and  silence  fell  between  us.  That  is  to  say,  we 
were  quiet,  though  nothing  is  farther  from  the 
truth  than  our  common  expression  "  silent 
woods."  The  forest  is  never  silent.  Hushed 
it  may  be  of  man's  clamor,  and  empty  as  well 
of  his  presence,  but  it  is  filled  with  sounds  from 
its  own  abundant  life  ;  not  so  loud,  perhaps,  and 
aggressive  to  the  ear  as  the  rumble  of  Broad- 
way, but  fully  as  continuous  ;  and  if  the  human 
wanderer  in  its  delightsome  shades  will  but 
bring  his  own  noisy  progress  to  a  halt,  he  will 
enjoy  a  new  sensation.  There  is  the  breeze 
that  sets  all  the  leaves  to  whispering,  not  to 


76  THE    WITCHING    WREN. 

speak  of  rougher  winds  that  fill  the  dim  aisles 
with  a  roar  like  Niagara.  There  are  the  falling 
of  dead  twigs,  the  rustle  of  leaves  under  the 
footsteps  of  some  small  shy  creature  in  fur,  the 
dropping  of  nuts,  and  the  tapping  of  woodpeck- 
ers. There  are  the  voices  of  the  wood-dwellers, 
—  not  songs  alone,  but  calls  and  utterances  of 
many  kinds  from  birds  ;  cries  and  scolding  of 
squirrels,  who  have  a  repertoire  astonishing  to 
those  who  do  not  know  them  ;  squawks  and 
squeals  of  little  animals  more  often  heard  than 
seen ;  and,  not  least,  the  battle-cries  of  the 
winged  hosts  "  who  come  with  songs  to  greet 
you  "  wherever  and  whenever  you  may  appear. 

Moreover,  the  moment  one  of  the  human  race 
is  quiet,  —  such  is  our  reputation  for  unrest,  — 
the  birds  grow  suspicious,  and  take  pains  to 
announce  to  all  whom  it  may  concern  that  here 
is  an  interloper  in  nature.  Even  if  there  be 
present  no  robin,  —  vociferous  guardian  of  the 
peace,  —  a  meek  and  gentle  flicker  mounts  the 
highest  tree  and  cries  "  pe-auk  !  pe-auk  !  "  as 
loud  as  he  can  shout,  a  squirrel  on  one  side 
shrieks  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  veeries  call  anx- 
iously here  and  there,  while  a  vireo  warbles  con- 
tinuously overhead,  and  a  redstart  "  trills  his 
twittering  horn." 

When  the  wren  song  began,  quite  near  this 
time,  everything  else  was  forgotten,  and  after  a 


FASCINATED   BY  A    WREN.  77 

few  moments'  eager  suspense  we  saw  our  bird. 
He  was  little  and  inconspicuous  in  shades  of 
brown,  with  tail  stuck  pertly  up,  wren  fashion, 
foraging  among  the  dead  leaves  and  on  old  logs, 
entirely  unconscious  that  he  was  one  of  the  three 
distinguished  singers  of  the  wood  ;  none  but  the 
hermit  thrush  and  the  veery  being  comparable 
to  him.  Whenever,  in  the  serious  business  of 
getting  his  breakfast,  he  reached  a  particularly 
inviting  twig,  or  a  more  than  usually  nice  rest 
on  a  log,  he  threw  up  his  little  head  and  poured 
out  the  marvelous  strain  that  had  taken  us  cap- 
tive, then  half  hopped,  half  flew  down,  with 
such  energy  that  he  "  whirred  "  as  he  went.  We 
watched  his  "  tricks  and  manners,"  and,  what 
was  more,  we  steeped  our  souls  in  his  music  as 
long  as  we  chose,  that  morning. 

The  lovely  long  June  days  were  never  more 
fascinating.  Every  morning  we  went  into  our 
beloved  woods  to  watch  its  bird  population ;  to 
find  out  who  was  building,  who  had  already  set 
up  housekeeping ;  to  penetrate  their  secrets,  and 
discover  their  wonderfully  hidden  nests.  Each 
day  we  heard  the  witching  song  that  never  lost 
its  charm  for  us.  One  morning  —  it  was  the 
fifteenth  of  the  month  —  we  were  sauntering  up 
one  of  the  most  inviting  paths.  The  dog  was 
ahead,  carrying  on  his  strong  and  willing  neck 
his  mistress's  stool,  she  following  closely, 


78  THE    WITCHING    WREN. 

steadying  the  same  with  her  hand,  while  I,  as 
was  my  custom,  brought  up  the  rear.  Sud- 
denly, as  we  approached  a  pile  of  dead  limbs 
from  a  fallen  tree,  my  friend  stopped  motion- 
less, and  as  usual  the  caravan  came  to  instant 
halt.  Without  taking-  her  eyes  from  the  brush 
heap,  she  silently  pulled  the  stool  from  the  dog's 
neck  and  sat  down  upon  it.  I  seated  myself 
beside  her,  and  the  dog  stretched  himself  at  our 
feet. 

"A  wren,"  she  whispered  briefly,  and  in  a 
moment  I  saw  it.  A  mother,  no  doubt,  for  her 
mouth  was  full  of  food,  and  she  was  fidgeting 
about  on  a  branch,  undecided  as  yet  what  she 
should  do,  with  that  formidable  array  in  front 
of  her  very  door,  as  it  afterward  turned  out. 
A  wren  is  a  quick-witted  little  creature,  and  she 
was  not  long  in  making  up  her  mind.  She 
flitted  around  us,  turned  our  right  flank  (so  to 
speak),  and  vanished  behind  us. 

We  took  the  hint,  changed  our  front,  and, 
after  the  moment's  confusion,  subsided  again, 
gently  waving  our  maple  boughs  to  terrorize  the 
foe  that  was  always  with  us,  and  keeping  shai-p 
watch  while  we  held  whispered  consultation  as 
to  whether  that  was  the  winter  wren,  and  the 
mate  of  our  singer. 

"  Oh,  if  she  has  a  nest !  "  said  my  comrade, 
to  whose  home  belonged  these  woods.  "  The 


THE   EXCITEMENT   OF  DISCOVERY.         79 

winter  wren  is  not  known  to  nest  here.  We 
must  find  it." 

Silence  again,  while  a  tanager  called  his  agi- 
tated ki  chip-chur  !  "  in  the  tops  of  the  tall  beech- 
trees,  a  downy  woodpecker  knocked  vigorously 
at  the  door  of  some  ill-fated  grub  in  a  maple 
trunk,  and  the  wren  burst  into  his  maddest  mel- 
ody afar  off.  We  were  not  to  be  lured  this 
morning.  We  were  enjoying  the  excitement  of 
discoverers.  Where  a  bird  is  carrying  food 
must  be  a  nest  with  birdlings,  and  nothing  could 
draw  us  from  that. 

We  waited.  In  a  few  minutes  the  bird  ap- 
peared again  with  her  mate.  Was  he  the  singer? 
Breathless  hush  on  our  part,  with  eyes  fixed  on 
the  two  restless  parents,  who  were  anxious  to 
pass  us.  In  a  moment  one  of  them  became 
aggressive.  He  —  or  she  —  flew  to  a  twig  eight 
or  ten  feet  from  us,  jerked  himself  up  in  a  ter- 
rifying way,  as  though  about  to  annihilate  us, 
and  then  bowed  violently  ;  not  intending  a  polite 
salutation,  as  might  be  supposed,  but  defiance, 
threat,  or  insult.  We  held  our  ground,  refus- 
ing to  be  frightened  away,  and  at  last  parental 
love  conquered  fear ;  both  of  them  flew  past  us 
at  the  same  instant,  went  to  one  spot  under  the 
upturned  roots  of  a  fallen  tree,  and  in  a  moment 
departed  together. 

My  fellow  -  student   hurried  eagerly  to  the 


80  THE    WITCHING    WREN. 

place,  dropped  upon  her  knees  on  the  wet 
ground,  amid  rank  ferns  and  weeds,  leaned  far 
under  the  overhanging  roots  with  their  load  of 
black  earth,  thrust  careful  fingers  into  some- 
thing, and  then  rose,  flushed  and  triumphant. 

"  Come  here,"  she  commanded.  ''  A  nest  full 
of  babies  !  Oh,  what  luck  !  " 

There  it  was,  sure  enough,  away  back  under 
the  heavy  roof  of  earth  and  roots,  a  snug  round 
structure  of  green  moss,  little  bigger  than  a 
croquet  ball.  The  hole  occupied  by  the  roots 
when  the  tree  stood  erect  was  now  filled  with 
water,  and  before  it  waved  a  small  forest  of 
ferns.  It  was  an  ideal  situation  for  a  nest ; 
pleasant  to  look  at,  and  safe  —  if  anything  could 
be  safe  —  from  the  small  fur-clad  gentry  who 
claimed  the  wood  and  all  it  contained  for  their 
own. 

"  The  hermit  has  no  finer  eye 
For  shadowy  quietness  " 

than  had  this  pair  of  wise  little  wrens. 

From  the  blissful  moment  of  our  discovery, 
whatever  interesting  excursion  was  planned, 
whatever  choice  nest  to  be  sought,  or  charming 
family  of  nestlings  to  be  called  upon,  our  steps 
first  turned  of  themselves  up  the  wren  path. 
Every  day  we  saw  the  birds  go  in  and  out,  on 
household  cares  intent,  and  we  soon  began  to 
look  for  the  exit  of  the  younglings. 


/     \\'AS   STARTLED.  81 

During  this  time  of  close  watching,  it  hap- 
pened that  for  a  day  or  two  I  was  obliged  to 
make  my  visit  alone.  Why  is  it  that  solitude  in 
the  depths  of  the  forest  has  so  mysterious  an 
effect  on  the  imagination  ?  One  dreads  to  make 
a  noise,  and  though  having  nothing  to  fear,  he 
instinctively  steals  about  as  if  every  tree  con- 
cealed a  foe.  The  first  morning  I  sauntered 
along  the  lonely  paths  in  silence,  admiring  for 
the  hundredth  time  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  with 
their  varied  decorations  of  lichen  and  their 
stately  moss-grown  insteps,  and  pausing  a  mo- 
ment before  the  butternut  which  had  divided 
itself  in  early  youth,  and  now  supported  upon 
one  root  three  tall  and  far-spreading  trees.  I 
had  not  heard  the  wren ;  and  indeed  the  birds 
seemed  unusually  silent,  the  squirrels  appeared 
to  be  asleep  in  their  nests,  and  not  a  leaf  was 
stirring.  Wordsworth's  admonition  came  into 
my  mind :  — 

"  Move  along  these  shades 
In  gentleness  of  heart ;  with  gentle  hand 
Touch  —  for  there  is  a  spirit  in  the  woods." 

Suddenly  something  sprang  out  from  under  a 
tree,  as  I  passed,  jerked  at  my  gown,  and  ran 
after  with  noisy  footsteps.  I  started,  and 
quickly  turned  to  face  my  assailant,  expecting 
to  see  a  bear  at  least.  I  found  instead  —  a  dead 
branch  which  had  caught  in  my  dress  and  was 


82  THE    WITCHING    WREN. 

dragging  behind  me.  I  loosened  the  branch 
from  its  hold,  and  went  on.  But  though  I 
laughed  at  the  absurdity,  I  found  my  nerves  a 
little  shaken.  Just  as  I  reached  the  wren 
corner  a  shriek  arose,  as  if  I  had  stepped  on  a 
whole  family  of  birdlings.  Again  I  started, 
when  a  saucy  squirrel  ran  out  on  the  branch  of 
a  tree,  scolding  me  in  good  round  terms. 

It  is  impossible  to  discourage  or  tire  out  a 
squirrel ;  his  business  is  never  pressing,  and  if 
it  were  he  considers  it  an  important  part  of  his 
duties  to  see  that  no  one  interferes  with  the  nests 
he  depends  on  for  fresh  eggs.  He  is  sure  to 
keep  up  a  chatter  which  puts  all  the  birds  of 
the  neighborhood  on  their  guard ;  and  as  I  was 
particularly  desirous  not  to  reveal  to  him  the 
position  of  the  wrens'  nest,  I  stayed  only  long 
enough  to  assure  myself  that  the  little  birds  had 
not  flown,  and  the  parents  were  attending  strictly 
to  domestic  affairs. 

The  next  day  I  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
wren  quarter  without  arousing  the  ire  of  the 
squirrels,  and  I  placed  my  seat  very  near  the 
nest  to  see  if  the  bird  had  learned  not  to  fear 
me.  Fixing  my  eyes  on  the  place  she  must 
enter,  I  waited,  motionless.  Some  time  passed, 
and  though  I  heard  many  bird  notes  about  me, 
and  the  wren  song  itself  afar  off,  there  was  no 
flit  of  wing  nor  faintest  wren  note  near  me.  But 


A   BRAVE  LITTLE  MOTHER.  83 

suddenly  a  shadowy  f orin  passed  in  directly  from 
the  front,  stayed  an  instant,  and  left  in  the  same 
way.  It  was  perfectly  silent,  not  the  slightest 
rustle  of  a  feather,  and  it  was  so  near  the  ground 
I  could  not  tell  whether  it  flew  or  ran ;  it  ap- 
peared to  glide.  Brave  little  creature !  I  was 
heartily  ashamed  of  annoying  her.  I  moved  my 
seat  to  a  more  respectful  distance,  and  she  went 
in  and  out  as  usual. 

It  was  much  more  satisfactory  watching  the 
little  mother  about  her  daily  cares  than  trying 
to  keep  track  of  her  mate.  He  was  one  of  the 
most  baffling  birds  I  ever  tried  to  spy  upon. 
Often  I  heard  his  delightful  song  so  near  that  I 
was  sure  in  a  moment  I  should  see  him.  Then 
I  peered  through  the  low  bushes,  without  moving 
so  much  as  an  eyelash,  expecting  every  instant 
that  my  eyes  would  fall  upon  him,  and  certain 
that  not  a  leaf  had  rustled  nor  a  twig  sprung 
back,  when  all  at  once  I  heard  him  on  the  other 
side.  He  had  flitted  through  the  underbrush, 
not  flying  much,  but  hopping  on  or  very  near 
the  ground,  without  a  breath  to  betray  him.  The 
wren  mother  could  not  hide  herself  so  completely 
from  me,  there  being  one  spot  on  earth  she  could 
not  desert,  —  the  charming  nook  that  held  her 
babies ;  and  yet,  be  as  motionless  as  I  might,  I 
could  not  deceive  her.  She  never  could  be  con- 
vinced that  I  was  a  queer-shaped  bush,  not  even 


84  THE    WITCHING    WEEN. 

when  I  held  a  maple  bough  before  my  face,  and 
my  garments  harmonized  perfectly  with  my  sur- 
roundings. She  always  came  near  and  bowed  to 
me,  jerked  herself  up,  and  flirted  her  wings  and 
tail,  as  if  to  say,  "  I  know  you.  You  need  n't 
try  to  hide."  When  I  went  too  near,  as  on  the 
occasion  spoken  of,  while  she  was  much  more 
wary  she  was  not  afraid,  and  I  had  no  compunc- 
tions about  studying  her  quaint  ways. 

We  were  exceedingly  desirous  of  seeing  that 
family  start  out  in  life,  and  we  did,  in  a  way 
that  startled  us  as  much  as  it  must  have  sur- 
prised them.  "  I  wonder  if  they  're  gone,"  was 
our  anxious  thought  every  morning  as  we  ap- 
proached ;  and  one  day,  not  seeing  either  parent, 
we  feared  they  had  made  their  debut  without 
our  assistance,  in  the  magical  morning  hours 
when  so  many  things  take  place  in  the  bird- 
world. 

"  I  mean  to  see  if  they  are  still  there,"  said 
my  comrade,  creeping  up  to  the  mass  of  roots, 
leaning  far  under,  and  carefully  thrusting  one 
finger  into  the  nest. 

A  dynamite  bomb  could  not  have  been  more 
effective,  nor  more  shocking  to  us,  for  lo!  in 
sudden  panic  five  baby  wrens  took  flight  in  five 
different  directions.  The  cause  of  the  disturb- 
ance rose,  with  a  look  of  discomfiture  on  her 
face,  as  if  she  had  been  caught  robbing  a  nest. 


"ASSISTED"    OUT   OF   THE   NEST.  85 

She  seemed  so  dismayed  that  I  laughed,  while 
those  wrenlings  made  the  air  fairly  hum  about 
her  head. 

That  they  were  ready  to  fly,  and  only  waiting 
for  "  the  Discourager  of  Hesitancy "  to  start 
them,  was  plain,  for  every  one  used  his  little 
wings  manfully,  —  perhaps  I  should  say  wren- 
f idly,  —  and  flew  from  fifteen  to  twenty  feet 
before  he  came  down.  In  less  than  a  minute 
the  air  jvas  filled  with  wren-baby  chirps,  and  we 
seated  ourselves  to  await  the  mother's  return  and 
witness  the  next  act  in  the  wren  drama.  The 
mother  took  it  philosophically,  recognizing  the 
chirps,  and  locating  them  with  an  ease  and  pre- 
cision that  aroused  envy  in  us  bird-lovers,  to 
whom  young-bird  calls  seem  to  come  from  every 
direction  at  once.  She  immediately  began  to 
feed,  and  to  collect  them  into  a  little  flock. 
With  her  help  we  also  found  them,  and  watched 
them  a  long  time  :  their  pretty  baby  ways,  their 
eager  interest  in  the  big  world,  their  drawing 
together  as  they  heard  one  another's  voices,  and 
their  cozy  cuddling  up  together  on  a  log. 

Feeling  that  we  had  made  disturbance  enough 
for  one  day,  we  finally  went  home  ;  but  the  next 
day,  and  several  days  thereafter,  we  hunted  up 
the  little  family  as  it  wandered  here  and  there 
in  the  woods,  noting  the  putting  on  of  pert  wren 
ways,  and  the  growth  of  confidence  and  helpful- 


86  THE    WITCHING    WREN. 

ness.  We  identified  them  fully  as  the  family  of 
our  beautiful  singer,  for  we  saw  him  feed  them, 
then  mount  a  projecting  root  and  sing  his  per- 
fect rhapsody,  not  fifteen  feet  from  us. 

I  must  explain  the  name  I  have  used,  "  the 
Discourager  of  Hesitancy."  It  is  the  invention 
of  Mr.  Frank  Stockton,  as  every  one  knows, 
but  I  applied  it  to  my  fellow-student  because  of 
her  conduct  in  'the  case  of  the  wrens ;  and  a  day 
or  two  later  she  proved  her  right  to  it  by  her 
treatment  of  a  chipping-sparrow  family  near  the 
house.  She  took  hold  of  the  tip  end  of  a  branch 
and  drew  it  down  to  look  at  the  nest  full  of 
young  chippies.  "  They  're  about  ready  to  fly," 
she  remarked  calmly ;  and  at  that  instant  the 
branch  was  released,  sprang  up,  and  four  young 
birds  were  suddenly  tossed  out  upon  the  world. 
They  sailed  through  the  air,  too  much  surprised 
to  use  their  wings,  and  dropped  back  into  the 
tree,  which  fortunately  was  a  thick  evergreen. 
The  "  Discourager's  "  face  displayed  a  mixture 
of  horror  and  shame  that  was  very  droll.  She 
said  the  twig  broke,  but  in  the  light  of  her  be- 
havior to  the  wrens,  and  her  avowed  pleasure  in 
stirring  birds  up  to  see  what  they  would  do,  I 
must  say  I  have  my  suspicions,  especially  when 
I  remember  that  that  was  the  second  family 
whose  minds  she  had  made  up  for  them  that 
week. 


CUDIJLEI)    UP    TOGETHER    ON    A    LOC.  —  THE    WINTER    WREN 


THE    WOODS  EMPTY.  87 

After  about  ten  days  of  watching  the  wren 
family,  we  lost  their  lively  chirpings,  the  witch- 
ing song  ceased,  the  place  seemed  empty  of  wren 
life,  and  our  charming  acquaintance  with  them 
a  thing  to  be  remembered  only.  At  least  so  we 
sadly  thought,  till  nearly  the  end  of  July,  when, 
on  sauntering  through  the  old  paths  for  almost 
the  last  time  (for  me),  we  heard  once  more  the 
familiar  music,  as  full,  as  fresh,  as  bewitching, 
as  in  the  spring.  We  sought  the  singer,  eager 
to  see  as  well  as  hear.  After  a  tramp  over 
underbrush  and  through  a  swamp,  we  saw  him, 
—  the  same  delightful  bird,  so  far  as  we  could 
tell ;  certainly  he  had  sung  the  exact  song  that 
charmed  us  in  early  June.  He  had  probably 
trained  and  started  out  in  life  his  five  babies, 
and  now  had  time  as  well  as  inclination  to  sing 
again. 

During  the  three  days  that  were  left  of  my 
stay  I  heard  the  enchanting  voice  every  time  I 
went  into  the  woods, 

"  Channting  his  low  impassioned  vesper-hymn, 
Clear  as  the  silver  treble  of  a  stream." 


V. 

WHIMSICAL   WATS   IN   BIRD-LAND. 

"  0  irritant,  iterant,  maddening  bird !  " 

ONE  lovely  evening  in  May,  I  was  walking 
down  a  quiet  road,  looking,  as  usual,  for  birds, 
when  all  at  once  there  burst  upon  the  sweet 
silence  a  loud  alarm.  "  Chack !  chack  !  chack ! 
too!  too!  t-t-t !  quawk!  quawk!"  at  the  top  of 
somebody's  loud  resonant  voice,  as  if  the  whole 
bird- world  had  suddenly  gone  mad.  I  looked 
about,  expecting  to  see  a  general  rush  to  the 
spot ;  but,  to  my  surprise,  no  one  seemed  to  no- 
tice it.  A  catbird  on  the  fence  went  on  with  his 
bewitching  song,  and  a  wood  thrush  in  the  shrub- 
bery dropped  not  a  note  of  his  heavenly  melody. 

"  They  have  heard  it  before  ;  it  must  be  a 
chat,"  I  said  ;  and  lo  !  on  the  top  twig  of  a  tall 
tree,  brilliant  in  the  setting  sun,  stood  the  singer. 
Never  before  had  I  seen  one  of  the  family  show 
himself  freely ;  and  while  I  gazed  he  proceeded 
to  exhibit  another  phase  of  chat  manners,  new 
to  me,  —  wing  antics,  of  which  I  had  read.  He 
flew  out  toward  another  tree-top,  going  very 
slowly,  with  his  legs  hanging  awkwardly  straight 


AN  ECCENTRIC  BIRD.  89 

down.  At  every  beat  of  the  wings  he  threw 
them  up  over  his  back  till  they  seemed  to  meet, 
jerked  his  expressive  tail  downward,  and  uttered 
a  harsh  "  chack,"  almost  pausing  as  he  did  so. 
"Not  only  a  chat,  but  a  character,"  was  my 
verdict,  as  I  turned  back  from  my  stroll. 

For  several  years  I  had  been  trying  to  know 
the  most  eccentric  bird  in  North  America,— 
the  yellow-breasted  chat.  Two  or  three  times  I 
had  been  able  to  study  him  a  little,  but  never 
with  satisfaction,  and  I  was  charmed  to  discover 
one  of  his  kind  so  near  the  pleasant  old  family 
mansion  in  which  I  had  established  myself  for 
the  summer.  This  house,  which  had  been  grand 
in  its  day,  but,  like  the  whole  place,  was  now 
tottering  with  age,  was  an  ideal  spot  for  a  bird- 
lover,  being  delightfully  neglected  and  gone  to 
seed.  Berry  patches  run  wild  offered  fascinat- 
ing sites  for  nests;  moss-covered  apple-trees 
supplied  dead  branches  for  perching;  great  elms 
and  chestnuts,  pines  and  poplars,  scattered  over 
the  grounds,  untrimmed  and  untrained,  pre- 
sented something  to  suit  all  tastes ;  and  above 
all,  there  existed  no  nice  care-taker  to  disturb 
the  paradise  into  which  Mother  Nature  had 
turned  it  for  her  darlings. 

It  was  a  month  later  than  this  before  I  dis- 
covered where  the  chat  and  his  mate,  the  image 
of  himself,  had  taken  up  their  abode  for  the 


90  WHIMSICAL    WAYS   IN  BIRD-LAND. 

season,  and  then  I  was  drawn  by  his  calls  to  an- 
other old  tangle  of  blackberry  bramble  at  the 
upper  edge  of  the  orchard.  "  Quoik ! "  he  began, 
very  low,  and  then  quickly  added,  "Whe-up! 
ch'k !  ch'k !  toot !  toot !  too  !  t-t-t-t-t !  "  conclud- 
ing with  a  very  good  imitation  of  a  watchman's 
rattle.  I  hastened  toward  the  spot,  and  was 
again  treated  to  that  most  absurd  wing  perform- 
ance, followed  by  an  exhibition  of  himself  in 
plain  sight,  and  then  a  circling  around  my  head, 
till,  tired  of  pranks  or  satisfied  with  his  survey, 
he  dropped  out  of  sight  in  the  bushes. 

Here,  I  said  to  myself,  is  a  chat  of  an  unfa- 
miliar sort ;  just  as  eccentric  as  any  of  his  race, 
and  not  at  all  averse  to  being  seen ;  wary,  but 
not  shy  ;  and  at  once  I  was  eager  to  know  him, 
for  the  great  and  undying  charm  of  bird  study 
lies  in  the  individuality  of  these  lovely  fellow- 
creatures,  and  the  study  of  each  one  is  the  study 
of  a  unique  personality,  with  characteristics, 
habits,  and  a  song  belonging  exclusively  to  it- 
self. Not  even  in  externals  are  birds  counter- 
parts of  one  another.  Close  acquaintance  with 
one  differentiates  him  decidedly  from  all  his 
fellows ;  should  his  plumage  resemble  that  of 
his  brethren,  —  which  it  rarely  does,  —  his  man- 
ners, expressions,  attitudes,  and  specific  "  ways  " 
are  peculiarly  his  own. 

The  blackberry  patch  pointed  out  by  the  chat 


A   BLACKBERRY   TANGLE.  91 

occupied  the  whole  length  of  a  steep  little  slope 
between  a  meadow  and  the  orchard,  and  at  the 
lower  edge  rested  against  a  fence  in  the  last 
stages  of  decrepitude.  During  many  years  of 
neglect  it  had  almost  returned  to  a  state  of  wild- 
ness.  Long,  briery  runners  had  bound  the  whole 
into  an  impenetrable  mass,  forbidding  alike  to 
man  and  beast,  and  neighboring  trees  had  sprin- 
kled it  with  a  promising  crop  of  seedlings  ;  or, 
as  Lowell  pictures  it,  — 

"  The  tangled  blackberry,  crossed  and  recrossed,  weaves 
A  prickly  network  of  ensanguined  leaves." 

As  if  planned  for  the  use  of  birds,  at  one  end 
stood  a  delectable  watch-tower  in  the  shape  of  a 
great  elm,  and  at  the  other  a  cluster  of  smaller 
trees,  —  apple,  ash,  and  maple.  These  advan- 
tages had  not  escaped  the  keen  eyes  of  our  clever 
little  brothers,  and  it  was  a  centre  of  busy  life 
during  the  nesting  season. 

The  first  time  I  attempted  to  find  the  chat's 
nest,  the  bird  himself  accompanied  me  up  and 
down  the  borders  of  this  well-fortified  black- 
berry thicket,  mocking  at  me,  and  uttering  his 
characteristic  call,  a  sort  of  mew,  different  from 
that  of  the  catbird  or  the  cat,  at  the  same  time 
carefully  keeping  his  precious  body  entirely 
screened  by  the  foliage.  Well  he  knew  that 
no  clumsy,  garmented  human  creature  how- 
ever inquisitive,  could  penetrate  his  thorny  juu- 


92  WHIMSICAL    WAYS   IN  BIRD-LAND. 

gle,  and  doubtless  the  remarks  so  glibly  poured 
out  were  sarcastic  or  exultant  over  my  failure  ; 
for  though  I  walked  the  whole  length,  and  at 
every  step  peered  into  the  bushes,  no  nest  could 
I  discover. 

Somewhat  later  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  domestic  partner  of  the  chat  family.  She 
was  less  talkative  than  her  spouse,  as  are  most 
feathered  dames  —  a  wise  arrangement  in  the 
bird-world,  for  what  would  become  of  the  nest 
and  nestlings,  if  the  home-keepers  had  as  much 
to  say  as  their  mates  ?  She  sat  calmly  on  the 
fence,  as  I  passed,  or  dressed  her  plumage  on 
the  branch  of  a  tree,  uttering  no  sound  except, 
rarely,  the  common  mewing  call.  She  was  a  wise 
little  thing,  too.  When  I  caught  her  carrying  a 
locust,  and  at  once  concluded  she  had  young  to 
feed,  as  quickly  as  if  she  had  read  my  thoughts 
she  let  her  prey  drop,  looking  at  me,  as  who 
should  say,  "  You  see  I  am  not  carrying  food." 
But  though  I  admired  her  quick  wit  and  re- 
spected her  motive,  I  did  not  believe  the  little 
mother,  and  despite  the  attractiveness  of  the 
head  of  the  household  I  kept  close  watch  upon 
her,  hoping  to  track  her  home.  I  soon  observed 
that  she  always  rose  from  the  tangle  at  one  spot 
near  the  elm  ;  but  vainly  did  I  creep  through 
what  once  might  have  been  a  path  between  the 
blackberries,  though  I  did  have  the  satisfaction 


A    CUNNING   DAME.  93 

of  seeing  the  singer  uneasy,  and  of  feeling  sure 
that,  as  the  children  say,  I  was  "  very  warm." 

Day  after  day,  in  fair  weather  or  foul,  in  cold 
or  heat,  I  took  my  way  down  the  lane,  and 
seated  myself  as  comfortably  as  circumstances 
would  admit,  to  spy  upon  the  brown-and-gold 
family ;  and  day  after  day  I  was  watched  in 
turn,  —  sometimes  by  the  singer,  restlessly  fly- 
ing from  tree  to  tree,  peering  down  to  study 
me  from  all  sides,  and  amusing  me  with  all  his 
varied  eccentricities  of  movement  and  song,  if 
one  may  thus  name  his  vocal  performances.  Oc- 
casionally madam  condescended  to  entertain,  or, 
what  is  more  probable,  tried  to  perplex  me  by 
her  tactics.  She  scorned  the  transparent  device 
of  drawing  me  away  from  the  dangerous  vicinity 
by  pretending  to  be  hurt,  or  by  grotesque  exhi- 
bitions. Her  plan  was  far  more  cunning  than 
these :  it  was  to  point  out  to  the  eager  seeker 
after  forbidden  knowledge,  convenient  places 
where  the  nest  might  be  —  but  certainly  was 
not,  —  and  so  to  bewilder  the  spy,  by  many 
hints,  that  she  would  not  realize  it  when  the  real 
passage  to  the  waiting  nestlings  was  made.  The 
wise  little  matron  would  alight  on  the  fence  and 
look  anxiously  down,  seemingly  about  to  drop 
into  the  nest ;  then,  as  if  she  really  could  not 
make  up  her  mind  to  do  so  while  I  looked  on, 
fly  to  a  blackberry  spray  and  do  it  all  over  again. 


94  WHIMSICAL    WAYS   IN  BIRD-LAND. 

In  a  moment  she  would  repeat  the  performance 
from  an  elm  sapling,  and  again  turn  anxious 
and  lingering  glances  in  still  another  direction. 
Then,  as  if  now  she  surely  must  go  home,  she 
would  slip  in  among  the  bushes,  apparently  try- 
ing to  keep  out  of  sight.  At  last,  having  thor- 
oughly mystified  me,  and  confused  my  ideas  past 
clearing  up,  with  a  dozen  or  more  hints,  she 
would  fly  over  the  small  elm  and  disappear,  in 
a  different  direction  from  any  one  of  the  places 
she  had  with  such  pretended  reluctance  pointed 
out.  Nor  was  the  nest  to  be  found  by  following 
any  of  her  hints. 

One  day,  when  the  beguiling  little  dame  had 
exasperated  me  beyond  endurance,  I  suddenly 
resolved  to  track  her  to  the  nest,  if  it  took 
the  whole  day.  So  when  she  flung  herself,  in 
her  usual  way,  over  the  small  elm,  I  instantly 
followed,  in  my  humbler  fashion.  Under  the 
fence  I  crept,  through  the  patched-up  opening 
the  cows  had  broken  through,  and  up  the  path 
they  had  attempted  to  make.  Now  I  fully  ap- 
preciated the  wisdom  of  the  bird  in  the  choice 
of  a  nesting-site.  The  very  blackberry  bushes 
appeared  to  league  themselves  together  for  her 
protection,  stretching  long,  detaining  arms,  and 
clutching  my  garments  in  all  sorts  of  unex- 
pected and  impossible  ways  ;  and  while  I  care- 
fully disengaged  one,  half  a  dozen  others 


A   NEST  AT   LAST!  95 

snatched  at  me  in  new  quarters,  till,  in  despair, 
I  jerked  away,  leaving  a  portion  of  my  gown  in 
their  grasp.  Thus  fighting  my  way,  inch  by 
inch,  I  progressed  slowly,  until  the  chat's  becom- 
ing silent  encouraged  me  to  fling  prudence  to 
the  winds,  and  pull  aside  eveiy  bush  at  the  risk 
of  tearing  the  flesh  off  my  hands  on  the  briers. 

At  last  a  nest !  My  heart  beat  high.  I  strug- 
gled nearer,  cautiously,  not  to  alarm  the  owner ; 
for  though  I  must  see  the  nest,  I  had  no  desire 
to  disturb  it.  I  parted  the  vines  and  looked  in. 
Empty,  and  plainly  a  year  old  ! 

Forgetting  the  brambles  in  my  disappoint- 
ment, I  turned  hastily  away,  when  the  bush,  as 
if  in  revenge  for  my  discovery  of  its  secret, 
seized  my  garments  in  a  dozen  places ;  and  suf- 
fering in  gown  and  temper,  I  tore  myself  away 
from  the  birds'  too  zealous  guardians  and  wan- 
dered up  the  lane. 

The  lane  was  an  enticing  spot,  with  young 
blackberry  runners  stretching  out  tender  green 
bloom  toward  whom  they  might  reach,  and  clem- 
atis rioting  over  and  binding  together  in  flowery 
chains  all  the  shrubs  and  weeds  and  young  trees. 
What  happiness  to  dwell  in  the  grounds  of  the 
"  shiftless  "  farmer !  Since  tidiness,  with  most 
cultivators,  means  the  destruction  of  all  natural 
beauty,  and  especially  the  cutting  down  of  every- 
thing that  interferes  with  the  prosperity  of  cab- 


96  WHIMSICAL    WAYS   IN  BIRD-LAND. 

bages  and  potatoes,  blessed  is  untidiness  to  the 
lover  of  Nature.  So  long  as  I  study  birds  I 
shall  carefully  seek  out  the  farmer  who  has  lost 
his  energy,  and  allows  Nature  her  own  inimitable 
way  in  his  fields  and  lanes.  The  fascinations  of 
that  neglected  corner  cannot  be  put  into  words. 
The  whole  railroad  embankment  which  bordered 
it  on  one  side,  stretching  far  above  my  head, 
was  a  mad  and  joyous  tangle  of  wild-grape  vines. 
In  the  shade  of  a  cluster  of  slender  trees  was  a 
spot  enriched  by  springs,  where  flourished  the 
greenest  of  ferns,  sprinkled  with  Jack-in-the- 
pulpits  and  forget-me-nots.  This  was  the  de- 
light of  my  heart,  and  my  consolation  for  the 
trials  connected  with  chat  affairs. 

Alas  that  the  usual  fate  of  Nature's  divine 
work  should  overtake  it ;  that  into  a  "  shiftless  " 
head  should  come  the  thought  that  railroad  ties 
and  fallen  trees  make  good  firewood,  and  without 
too  much  trouble  can  be  dragged  out  by  horses ! 
As  a  preliminary  calamity,  half-starved  cows 
were  turned  in  to  nibble  the  grass,  and  inci- 
dentally to  trample  and  crush  flowers  and  ferns 
into  one  ghastly  ruin.  And  at  the  same  moment, 
as  if  inspired  by  the  same  spirit  of  destruction, 
some  idle  railroad  "  hand,"  with  a  scythe,  laid 
low  the  whole  bank  of  grapevines.  Ruthless  was 
the  ruin,  and  wrecked  beyond  repair  the  spot, 
after  man's  desolating  hand  passed  over  it;  a 


A    TRAGEDY  IN   THE  LANE.  97 

scene  of  violence,  of  dead  and  dying  scattered 
over  the  trampled  and  torn-up  sod  ;  "  murder 
most  foul "  in  the  eyes  of  a  Nature-lover.  I 
could  not  bear  to  look  upon  it.  I  shunned  it, 
lest  I  should  hate  my  fellow-man,  who  can,  un- 
necessarily and  in  pure  wantonness,  destroy  in 
one  hour  what  he  cannot  replace  in  a  lifetime. 

Nor  was  that  the  full  measure  of  sufferings 
inflicted  on  the  lane  —  and  me.  That  beautiful 
green  passageway  happened  to  be  a  short  cut 
from  the  meadow,  and  horse-rake  and  hay-wagon 
made  the  ravage  complete.  The  one  crushed 
and  dragged  out  every  sweet-growing  thing 
spared  by  the  previous  devastators,  and  the 
other  defiled  with  wisps  of  dead  grass  every 
branch  that  reached  over  its  grateful  shade.  It 
was  pitiful,  as  much  for  the  exhibition  thus  made 
of  a  man's  insensible  and  sordid  existence,  as 
for  the  laceration  of  my  feelings  and  the  actual 
ruin  wrought. 

A  pleasanter  theme  is  the  love-making  in 
which  I  chanced  to  catch  the  beautiful  but 
bewildering  pair  in  the  blackberry  bushes. 
Madam,  hopping  about  an  old  apple-tree,  was 
apparently  not  in  the  least  interested  in  her 
lover,  who  followed  after,  in  comical  fashion, 
with  ludicrous  and  truly  chat-like  antics,  every 
feather  raised,  crouching,  with  head  turned  this 
way  and  that,  and  neck  stretched  out,  and 


98  WHIMSICAL    WAYS   IN  BIRD-LAND. 

changing  his  position  at  every  hop  with  the 
most  dramatic  action.  If  modern  theories  are 
true,  and  bird  eccentricities  of  dress  and  be- 
havior are  assumed  to  please  and  win  the  mate, 
what  must  we  think  of  the  taste  of  our  demure 
little  sisters  in  feathers  ? 

Did  I  ever  assert  that  the  chat  is  shy  ?  Then 
am  I  properly  punished  for  not  appreciating  his 
individuality,  by  having  to  admit  that  this  pair 
possessed  not  a  trace  of  the  quality.  The  singer 
seemed  to  be  always  on  exhibition  ;  and  as  for 
his  spouse,  though  she  performed  no  evolutions, 
she  came  boldly  into  sight,  postured  in  the  most 
approved  Delsartian  style,  uttered  a  harsh  purr 
or  jerked  out  a  "  mew,"  with  a  sidewise  fling  of 
her  head  which  showed*  the  inside  of  her  mouth 
to  be  black,  —  all  for  my  benefit,  and  without 
the  slightest  embarrassment.  She  made  it  ob- 
vious to  the  dullest  understanding,  that  while 
she  did  not  like  spies,  nor  approve  of  human 
curiosity  in  neighborhood  matters,  she  was  not 
in  the  least  afraid. 

As  the  days  passed  on,  a  change  crept  over 
the  chat  family ;  they  became  more  retiring. 
In  my  daily  walk  they  were  not  so  easily 
found  ;  indeed,  sometimes  they  were  not  to  be 
seen  at  all.  When  I  did  discover  them,  they 
seemed  very  much  engaged  in  private  affairs, 
with  no  time  for  displays  of  any  sort.  No 


LOVE-MAKING  — THE    YELLOW-BREASTED   CHAT 


PERSEVERANCE   REWARDED.  99 

more  droll  performances  on  the  tree-top,  no 
more  misleading  antics  in  the  blackberries  ;  the 
days  of  frolic  were  over,  the  sober  duties  of  life 
claimed  all  their  energies,  and  they  went  about 
silently  and  stealthily.  Of  course  I  was  sure 
something  had  happened  to  induce  this  change, 
—  no  doubt  nestlings,  —  and  a  great  and  ab- 
sorbing determination  grew  in  my  mind  to  find 
that  nest,  if  I  suffered  in  body  and  estate  from 
every  bush  in  the  patch. 

Let  the  story  of  my  encounter  be  veiled  in 
oblivion.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  perseverance 
under  such  difficulties  deserved,  and  met,  re- 
ward. In  due  time  I  saw  the  bird  flit  away, 
and  my  eyes  fell  upon  the  nest.  No  birds,  but 
four  pearls  of  promise  within. 

"  Think  on  the  speed,  and  the  strength,  and  the  glory, 

The  wings  to  be,  and  the  joyous  life, 
Shut  in  those  exquisite  secrets,  she  brooded." 

I  looked,  but  did  not  touch ;  and  I  departed 
content.  A  few  days  later  I  made  another 
call.  Again  I  flushed  the  mother  from  the 
nest,  and  this  time  looked  upon  a  brown  mass 
of  wriggling  baby  chats.  Meanwhile,  since  life 
had  become  so  serious,  the  chat  sobered  down 
into  the  dignified  head  of  a  family,  and  joined 
his  mate  in  hard  work  from  morning  till  night. 

But  summer  days  were  passing.  Dandelion 
ghosts  lined  the  paths,  wild  roses  dropped  their 


100         WHIMSICAL    WAYS   IN  BIRD-LAND. 

rosy  pink  and  appeared  in  sombre  green,  and 
meadow  lilies  peeped  out  from  every  fence 
corner.  A  few  days  after  my  grand  discovery, 
I  went  one  evening  to  the  blackberry  tangle, 
and  was  greeted  by  gleeful  shouts  and  calls 
from  the  bird  of  late  so  silent.  There  he 
was,  his  old  self,  his  recent  reserve  all  gone. 
My  heart  fell ;  I  suspected,  and  in  a  moment  I 
knew  the  reason.  The  nest  was  empty.  Where, 
then,  could  be  those  youngsters,  less  than  a 
week  old,  who  four  days  before  were  blind  and 
bare  of  feathers  ?  They  could  not  have  flown  ; 
they  must  have  been  hurried  out  of  the  nest  as 
soon  as  they  could  stand.  Could  it  be  because 
I  knew  their  secret  ?  I  felt  myself  a  monster, 
and  I  tried  to  make  amends  by  hunting  them 
up  and  replacing  them.  But  the  canny  parents, 
as  usual,  outwitted  me.  Not  only  had  they  re- 
moved their  infants,  but  they  had  hidden  them 
so  securely  that  I  could  not  find  them,  and  I 
was  sure,  from  their  movements,  that  they  were 
not  bereaved. 

I  began  my  search  by  trying  to  follow  the 
wily  singer,  who  appeared  to  understand,  and 
regard  it  as  a  joke.  First  he  led  me  up  the 
lane,  then  I  had  to  follow  down  the  lane  ;  the 
next  minute  he  shouted  from  the  blackberry 
patch,  and  I  had  to  go  around  the  wall  to  reach 
him.  Alas,  the  race  between  wings  and  feet  is 


THE    TOO    CLEVER   CHAT.  101 

hopeless !  I  abandoned  that  plan,  and  resolved 
to  go  to  a  grove  not  heretofore  invaded,  being 
absolutely  impenetrable  from  undergrowth.  My 
way  led  across  a  cornfield,  over  stone  walls, 
through  thickets  and  bushes  everywhere.  Many 
other  birds  I  startled,  and  at  last  came  a  chat's 
"mew"  from  a  wild  jungle  of  ailantus  and 
brambles,  which  nothing  less  effective  than  an 
axe  could  pass  through.  But  on  I  went  around 
the  edge,  the  chat's  call  accompanying  me,  and 
at  the  point  where  it  sounded  loudest  I  dropped 
to  a  humble  position,  hoping  that  eyes  might 
enter  further  than  feet.  Nothing  to  be  seen  or 
heard  but  a  flit  of  wings.  The  singer  tried  to 
lead  me  away,  but  I  was  serious  and  not  to  be 
coaxed,  and  all  his  manoauvres  failed.  I  seated 
myself  on  the  ground,  for  now  I  heard  low,  soft 
baby  calls,  and  determined  to  stay  there  till  the 
crack  of  doom,  or  till  I  had  solved  the  mystery 
of  those  calls. 

But  I  did  not  stay  so  long,  and  I  did  not  see 
the  babies.  An  hour  or  two  of  watching  weak- 
ened my  determination,  and  slowly  and  sadly  I 
wended  my  way  homeward ;  admiring,  while  I 
execrated,  the  too,  too  clever  tactics  of  the  chat. 
But  I  did  make  one  discovery,  —  that  a  sound 
which  had  puzzled  me,  like  the  distant  blow 
of  an  axe  against  a  tree,  must  be  added  to 
the  repertoire  of  the  chat  mother.  I  saw  her 


102         WHIMSICAL    WAYS   IN  BIRD-LAND. 

utter  it,  and  saw  the  strange  movement  of  the 
throat  in  doing  so.  The  sound  seemed  to  come 
up  in  bubbles,  which  distended  her  throat  on 
the  outside  exactly  as  if  they  had  been  beads 
as  big  as  shoe  buttons. 

I  was  not  to  be  wholly  disappointed.  Fate 
had  one  crumb  of  consolation  for  me,  for  I  saw 
at  last  a  chat  baby.  He  was  a  quiet,  well-be- 
haved little  fellow,  with  streaks  on  throat  and 
breast,  and  dull  yellow  underparts.  His  man- 
ners were  subdued,  and  gave  no  hint  of  the 
bumptious  acrobat  he  might  live  to  be. 

While  the  vagaries  of  chat  life  had  been 
drawing  me  down  toward  the  lane,  the  feath- 
ered world  on  the  other  side  of  the  house  had 
not  been  idle  ;  and  glad  now  to  avoid  the  ruined 
lane  and  the  deserted  berry  patch,  I  turned  my 
attention  to  a  bird  drama  nearer  home,  the  story 
of  which  must  have  a  chapter  to  itself. 


VI. 

THE   "  BIRD   OF   THE   MUSICAL  WING." 

MR.  BRADFORD  TORREY  has  started  an  in- 
quiry into  the  conduct  of  the  ruby-throated 
hummingbird,  who  is  said,  contrary  to  the  hab- 
its of  the  feathered  world  in  general,  to  absent 
himself  from  his  family  during  the  time  that  his 
mate  is  brooding  and  rearing  the  young.  The 
question  of  interest  to  settle  is  his  motive  in 
so  doing.  Does  he  consider  his  brilliant  ruby 
dangerous  to  the  safety  of  the  nest,  and  so 
deny  himself  the  pleasure  as  well  as  the  pain  of 
family  life  ?  Does  he  selfishly  desert  outright, 
and  return  to  bachelor  ways,  when  his  mate 
settles  herself  to  her  domestic  duties  ?  Or  does 
the  pugnacious  little  creature  herself  decline 
not  only  his  advice  and  counsel,  but  even  his 
presence  ? 

This  problem  in  the  life  of  the  bird  has  lent 
new  interest  to  its  study,  and  I  was  greatly 
pleased,  last  summer,  when  the  bursting  into 
bloom  of  a  trumpet  creeper,  which  clad  with 
beauty  the  branches  of  an  old  locust-tree,  at- 
tracted to  the  door  of  my  temporary  home  this 


104     THE  "BIRD  OF  THE  MUSICAL  WING." 

"  Kare  little  bird  of  the  bower, 
Bird  of  the  musical  wing." 

No  sooner  did  the  great  red  trumpets  begin  to 
open  than  their  winged  admirers  appeared,  and 
the  special  object  of  my  interest  —  whether  by 
right  of  discovery  or  by  force  of  will  I  could  not 
determine  —  asserted  her  claim  to  the  vine  and 
its  vicinity,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  evict  every 
pretender  to  any  share  of  the  treasure.  Nor  was 
it  a  difficult  task ;  for  though  the  smallest  of 
our  birds,  the  ruby-throat  is  perhaps  the  most 
spirited.  No  bird,  not  even  the  mighty  eagle, 
standard-bearer  of  the  republic,  is  too  big  for 
this  midget  to  attack,  and  none  fails  to  retire 
before  his  rapier-like  beak.  Madam  of  the  vine 
lacked  none  of  the  courage  and  self-assertion  of 
her  race,  and  a  few  lively  skirmishes  convinced 
the  neighbors,  with  one  exception,  that  this 
particular  crop  of  blossoms  was  preempted  and 
no  trespassing  allowed.  That  matter  happily 
arranged,  she  settled  down  in  peace  to  enjoy 
her  estate,  and  I  followed  her  example. 

July  was  nearly  half  gone  when  blossoms 
began  to  unclose  on  the  vine  and  my  lady  took 
possession.  The  world  about  the  house  and 
orchard  was  full  of  melody,  for  goldfinches  were 
just  celebrating  their  nuptials,  and  birds  have 
to  furnish  their  own  wedding  music.  Though  a 
march  may  express  the  pomp  and  ceremony  of 


A    TALKATIVE  HUMMINGBIRD.  105 

human  marriage,  a  rhapsody  is  more  in  harmony 
with  joyous  bird  unions,  and  the  air  rang  with 
their  raptures.  The  marriage  hymn  of  the 
hummingbird — if  any  there  were  —  was  not  for 
human  ears  ;  indeed,  most  of  the  life,  certainly 
all  of  the  wedded  life  of  this  bird,  is  shrouded 
in  mystery,  perhaps  never  to  be  unraveled  till 
we  understand  bird  language,  and  can  subject 
him  to  an  "  interview." 

The  first  thing  that  surprised  me  in  my  little 
neighbor  was  her  volubility,  for  I  had  never 
found  her  kin  talkative.  She  made  remarks 
to  herself,  doubtless  both  witty  and  wise,  but 
sounding  to  her  dull-eared  hearers,  it  must  be 
confessed,  like  squeaky  twitters  ;  and  somewhat 
later,  when  she  recognized  me  as  an  admirer,  as 
I  fully  believe  she  did,  she  even  addressed  some 
conversation  to  me,  going  out  of  her  way  to  fly 
over  my  head  as  she  did  so. 

Nothing  could  be  more  dainty  than  her  way 
of  exploring  the  flowers  on  her  vine.  Poising 
herself  on  wing  before  a  blossom,  she  first  gazed 
earnestly  into  its  rosy  depths,  to  judge  of  its 
quality,  —  or  possibly  of  its  tenants  ;  for  it  was 
not  nectar  alone  that  she  sought.  If  it  pleased 
her,  she  dashed  upon  it,  seized  the  lower  rim  with 
her  tiny  claws,  and  folded  her  wings.  Then 
drawing  her  head  far  back,  she  thrust  her  beak, 
her  head,  and  sometimes  jjer  whole  body  into 


106     THE  "BIRD  OF  THE  MUSICAL  WING." 

the  flower  tube,  her  plump  little  form  completely 
filling  it ;  and  there  she  hung  motionless  for  a 
few  seconds,  while  I  struggled  with  the  tempta- 
tion to  inclose  blossom  and  bird  in  my  hand.  If 
the  flower  chanced  to  be  an  old  one,  her  rough- 
ness sometimes  detached  it,  when  she  hastily 
backed  out,  protesting  indignantly,  and  looking 
over  to  see  it  fall. 

Atom  though  the  hummer  was,  hardly  more 
than  a  pinch  of  feathers,  she  was  a  decided 
character,  with  notions  and  ways  of  her  own. 
One  of  her  fancies  was  to  open  the  honey-pots 
for  herself.  When  she  found  a  bud  beginning 
to  unclose,  a  lobe  or  two  unfolded,  she  at  once 
took  it  in  hand  and  vigorously  proceeded  to  aid 
the  process  with  her  needle-like  beak,  and  the 
instant  it  was  accomplished  rushed  in  to  secure 
her  spoils  in  their  first  freshness.  She  never 
appeared  to  have  patience  to  wait  for  anything, 
and  sometimes  even  tried  to  hurry  up  dilatory 
buds.  She  did  succeed,  as  such  vehemence 
must,  in  breaking  in  the  back  way,  as  it  were, 
through  a  hole  in  the  corolla  tube,  and  rifling 
the  bud  before  it  had  a  chance  to  become  a 
blossom.  I  could  not  decide  positively  whether 
she  pierced  the  tubes,  or  availed  herself  of  the 
labors  of  an  oriole  I  had  seen  splitting  them  by 
inserting  his  beak  and  then  opening  it  wide  to 
enlarge  the  hole. 


A    YOUTHFUL    INTRUDER.  107 

One  quality  that  my  little  friend  most  woe- 
fully lacked  was  repose.  Not  only  were  her 
motions  jerky  and  exasperating  in  the  extreme, 
but  during  my  whole  acquaintance  with  her  I 
never  saw  her  for  a  moment  absolutely  still. 
On  the  rare  occasions  when  her  body  was  at 
rest,  her  head  turned  from  side  to  side  as  though 
moved  by  machinery,  like  the  mandarin  dolls  of 
the  toy-shops,  and  I  had  doubts  whether  she 
ever  slept.  I  was  really  concerned  about  her. 
Nervous  prostration  seemed  the  only  thing  she 
could  look  forward  to ;  and  later  I  found  that 
Bradford  Torrey  had  suffered  similar  anxiety 
about  one  of  her  kind,  as  related  in  his  charm- 
ing story,  "  A  Widow  and  Twins." 

There  was  one  exception,  as  I  said,  to  the 
complete  success  of  the  little  lady  in  green,  in 
establishing  her  claim  to  the  vine.  The  indi- 
vidual who  refused  to  be  convinced  interested 
me  greatly.  He  looked  a  guileless  and  innocent 
youth ;  his  tender  age  being  indicated  by  a 
purer  white  on  the  breast  and  a  not  fully  grown 
tail.  Moreover,  he  was  not  so  deft  in  movement 
as  the  experienced  matron  he  defied  ;  he  was 
almost  clumsy,  in  fact,  having  some  difficulty  in 
manoeuvring  his  unwieldy  beak  and  getting  his 
head  into  the  tube,  and  being  much  disconcerted 
by  the  swaying  of  the  blossoms  in  the  breeze. 
Youth  and  innocence  were  shown,  too,  in  the 


108     THE  "BIRD  OF  THE  MUSICAL  WING." 

manner  of  the  little  stranger  toward  my  lady. 
He  approached  her  in  a  confiding  way,  as  if  ex- 
pecting a  welcome,  and  was  plainly  astonished 
at  being  attacked  instead.  Indeed,  he  appar- 
ently could  not  believe  his  repulse  was  serious, 
for  he  soon  returned  in  the  most  friendly  spirit, 
and  utterly  refused  to  be  driven  away. 

After  making  myself  well  acquainted  with  the 
manners  and  ways  of  Madam  Ruby-throat,  and 
noting  that  she  always  took  her  departure  in 
exactly  the  same  direction  and  at  quite  regular 
intervals,  I  began  to  suspect  that  she  had  im- 
portant business  somewhere ;  probably  a  nest, 
possibly  a  pair  of  twin  babies.  Should  I  un- 
dertake the  hopeless  task  of  seeking  that  tiny 
lichen-covered  cradle,  so  nearly  resembling  a 
thousand  knots  and  other  protuberances  that 
one  might  as  easily  find  the  proverbial  needle  in 
a  hay-stack,  or  should  I  turn  my  attention  to 
other  inviting  quarters  on  the  place  ?  While  I 
hesitated,  balancing  the  attractions,  madam  her- 
self chanced  to  give  me  a  hint.  One  morning, 
as  I  was  watching  her  steady  flight  across  the 
lawn,  I  caught  a  decided  upward  swerve  of  the 
gleaming  line,  and  instantly  resolved  to  take 
the  hint,  if  such  it  were.  I  went  quietly  to  a 
pear-tree  on  her  course,  and  waited  for  the  next 
point,  if  she  chose  to  give  it.  She  did  ;  she  was 
most  obliging,  —  may  I  venture  to  say  friendly? 


SHE  SHOWED  ME  THE  NEST.     109 

Almost  immediately  she  passed  me,  and  alighted 
on  one  of  a  row  of  tall  trees  that  lined  the  road. 
There  she  hovered  for  a  moment,  giving  sharp 
digs  at  one  spot,  as  though  detaching  something, 
and  then  flew  straight  along  the  line  to  an  im- 
mense silver  poplar. 

Here  at  last  the  bird  settled,  and  a  wild  hope 
sprang  up  in  my  heart.  Stealing  nearer  to  the 
tree  without  taking  my  eyes  from  the  spot; 
ignoring  the  danger  of  pitfalls  in  my  path,  of 
holes  to  fall  into  and  rocks  to  fall  over,  of  briers 
to  scratch  and  snakes  to  bite,  I  drew  as  near  as 
I  dared,  and  then  cautiously  raised  my  glass  to 
my  eyes,  and  behold !  the  nest  with  my  lady 
upon  it !  The  thrill  of  that  moment  none  but  a 
fellow  bird-lover  can  understand.  What  now 
was  the  most  beguiling  of  chats ;  what  the  dan- 
ger of  dislocating  my  neck  ;  what  the  dread  of 
neighborhood  wonder ;  what  the  annoyance  of 
mosquitoes,  or  dogs,  or  small  boys,  or  loose  cat- 
tle, or  anything  ?  There  was  the  nest.  (I  am 
obliged  to  admit,  parenthetically,  that  nearly  all 
these  calamities  befell  me  during  my  devotion  to 
that  nest,  but  I  never  faltered  in  my  attentions, 
and  I  never  regretted.) 

At  the  moment  of  discovery,  however,  I  was 
too  excited  to  watch.  First  carefully  locating 
the  tiny  object  by  means  of  a  dead  branch,  — 
for  I  knew  I  should  have  to  seek  it  again  if  I 


110      THE   "  BIRD  OF  THE  MUSICAL   WING." 

lost  it  then,  and  the  luck  of  finding  it  so  easily 
could  not  fall  to  me  twice,  —  I  rushed  to  the 
house  to  share  my  enthusiasm  with  a  sympa- 
thizer. 

My  lady  ruby-throat  was  a  canny  bird ; .  she 
had  selected  her  position  with  judgment.  The 
silver  poplar  of  her  choice  was  covered  with 
knobs  so  exactly  copied  by  the  nest  that  no 
one  would  have  suspected  it  of  being  anything 
different.  It  was  on  a  dead  branch,  so  that 
foliage  could  not  trouble  her,  while  leafy  twigs 
grew  near  enough  for  protection.  No  large 
limb  afforded  rest  for  a  human  foe,  and  it  was 
at  the  neck-breaking  height  of  twenty  feet  from 
the  ground.  Neck-breaking  indeed  I  found  it, 
after  a  trial  of  twenty  minutes'  duration,  which, 
judging  from  my  sensations,  might  have  been 
a  century. 

But  whether  my  head  ever  recovered  its  nat- 
ural pose  or  not,  I  was  happy ;  for  I  saw  the 
hummingbird  shaping  her  snug  domicile  to  her 
tidy  form,  turning  around  and  around  in  it, 
pressing  with  breast  and  bend  of  the  wing,  as  I 
was  certain,  from  the  similarity  of  her  attitude 
and  motions  to  those  of  a  robin  I  had  closely 
watched  at  the  same  work.  During  the  time 
I  watched  her  she  made  ten  trips  between  the 
poplar  and  the  vine,  and  at  every  visit  worked 
at  shaping  the  nest  and  adjusting  the  outside 


THE  NEST  WITH  MY  LADY  UPON  IT  —  RUBY-THKOATED  Hf MMINUBIIID 


A    CHARMING   SPOT.  Ill 

material.  She  did  not  care  for  my  distant  and 
inoffensive  presence  on  the  earth  below,  and  she 
probably  did  not  suspect  the  power  of  my  glass 
to  spy  upon  her  secrets,  for  she  showed  no  dis- 
comfiture at  my  frequent  visits.  Indeed,  she 
took  pains  to  let  me  know  that  she  had  her  eye 
upon  me,  for  twice  when  she  left  the  nest  she 
swerved  from  her  course  to  swoop  down  over  my 
head,  squeaking  most  volubly  as  she  passed. 

While  sitting  at  my  post  of  observation,  my 
neck  sometimes  refused  to  retain  its  unnatural 
position  a  moment  longer,  and  then  I  refreshed 
myself  with  other  objects  around ;  for  after  some 
search  I  had  found  a  charming  place  for  study. 
It  was  beside  a  rocky  ledge  which  ran  through 
the  middle  of  a  bit  of  meadow-land,  and  happily 
defied  being  cultivated,  although  it  supported  a 
flourishing  crop  of  wildings,  —  scattering  elm, 
oak,  and  pine  trees,  with  sumac,'  goldenrod, 
and  other  sweet  things  to  fill  up  the  tangle. 
Under  a  low-spreading  tree  I  placed  my  seat: 
at  my  back  the  screening  rocks,  in  front  a  strip 
of  meadow  waiting  for  the  mower.  Along  the 
side  where  I  entered  ran  a  stone  wall,  but  be- 
fore me  was  a  stretch  of  delightfully  dilapi- 
dated old  board  and  pole  fence.  It  had  been 
reinforced  and  made  available  for  keeping  out 
undesirables  by  barbed  wire,  but  at  my  distance 
that  was  inconspicuous  and  did  not  disturb  me. 


112       THE   "  BIRD  OF  THE  MUSICAL   WING." 

The  fence  had  never  been  painted,  the  wind  and 
weather  of  many  years  had  toned  it  down  to  the 
hue  of  a  tree-trunk,  and  it  was  so  thoroughly 
decorated  with  lichens  that  it  had  come  to  look 
almost  like  a  bit  of  nature's  work,  —  if  nature 
could  have  made  anything  so  ugly.  I  believe 
the  birds  regarded  it  as  a  special  arrangement 
for  their  benefit.  Certainly  they  used  it  freely. 

But  beyond  the  fence  was  a  genuine  bit  of 
nature's  handiwork  in  which  man  had  no  part : 
an  extended  and  luxuriant  tangle,  bordering  the 
river,  of  alder  and  other  bushes,  with  here  and 
there  a  young  tree,  elm,  apple,  cedar,  or  wild 
cherry  ;  and  winding  through  it  a  bewitching 
path,  made  by  cows  in  their  unconventional  and 
meandering  style  and  for  their  own  convenience, 
penetrating  every  charming  nook  in  the  shrub- 
bery, and  so  unnoticeable  at  its  entrance  that 
one  might  pass  it  and  not  suspect  its  presence. 
In  this  path  bushes  met  over  their  heads,  often 
not  high  enough  for  ours,  wild  roses  perfumed 
the  air,  and  meadow-sweet  lingered  long  after 
it  was  gone  from  haunts  less  cool  and  shaded. 
Every  turn  offered  a  new  and  fascinating  pic- 
ture, and  a  stroll  through  the  irresistible  way 
always  began  or  ended  my  day's  study. 

For  several  days  following  my  happy  discov- 
ery I  spent  much  time  watching  domestic  affairs 
in  the  poplar-tree.  The  little  matron  was  not  a 


FLOATED    OFF   THE   NEST.  113 

steady  sitter.  From  two  to  four  minutes,  at  in- 
tervals of  about  the  same  length,  was  as  long  as 
she  could  possibly  remain  in  one  place  ;  and 
even  then  she  entertained  herself  by  rearranging 
the  materials  composing  her  nest,  till  I  began  to 
fear  she  would  have  it  pulled  to  pieces  before 
the  birdlings  appeared.  Beautiful  beyond  words 
was  her  manner  of  entering  and  leaving  her 
snug  home.  On  departing,  she  simply  spread 
her  wings  and  floated  off,  as  if  lifted  by  the  ris- 
ing tide  of  an  invisible  element ;  and  on  return- 
ing, she  sank  from  a  height  of  ten  or  twelve 
inches,  as  if  by  the  subsidence  of  the  same  tide. 
This  corner  of  my  small  world,  however  en- 
chanting with  its  rocky  ledge,  its  cow-path,  and 
its  nest,  did  not  absorb  me  entirely.  Life  about 
the  trumpet-vine  was  far  more  stirring  and 
eventful.  It  was  there  that  madam  spent  half 
her  time,  for  at  that  point,  as  well  as  at  the  nest, 
were  duties  to  be  performed,  her  larder  to  be 
defended,  intruders  to  be  banished,  and  crops  to 
be  gathered ;  there,  too,  in  the  intervals,  her 
toilet  to  be  made.  That  a  creature  so  tiny 
should  make  a  toilet  at  all  was  wonderful  to 
think  of,  and  to  see  her  do  it  was  charming. 
Each  minute  feather  on  gossamer  wing  or  wide- 
spread tail  was  passed  carefully  through  her 
beak  ;  from  all  soft  plumage,  the  satin  white  of 
the  breast  and  the  burnished  green  of  the  back, 


114     THE  ''BIRD  OF  THE  MUSICAL  WING." 

every  particle  of  dust  was  removed  and  every 
disarrangement  was  set  right.  Her  long  white 
tongue,  looking  like  a  bristle,  was  often  thrust 
out  far  beyond  the  beak,  and  the  beak  itself  re- 
ceived an  extra  amount  of  care,  being  scraped 
and  polished  its  whole  length  by  a  tiny  claw, 
which  was  used  also  for  combing  the  head  feath- 
ers. 

At  the  vine,  too,  was  war ;  for  the  youngster 
already  mentioned  persisted  in  denying  the  ma- 
tron's right  to  the  whole,  and  many  a  sharp 
tussle  they  had,  when  for  an  hour  at  a  time 
there  would  not  be  a  shadow  of  peace  for  any- 
body. Occasionally  madam  would  relax  her 
opposition  to  the  intruder  and  let  him  remain 
on  the  vine ;  but  with  the  proverbial  ingratitude 
of  beneficiaries,  he  then  assumed  to  own  it  him- 
self, and  flew  at  her  when  she  returned  from  a 
visit  to  her  nest,  as  if  she  had  no  right  there. 
His  advantage  lay  in  having  nothing  else  to  do, 
and  thus  being  able  to  spend  all  his  time  on  the 
ground. 

The  energy  of  the  little  mother  was  wonder- 
ful. In  spite  of  the  unrest  of  her  life,  of  con- 
tinual struggles,  and  work  over  the  nest,  she 
frequently  indulged  in  marvelous  aerial  evolu- 
tions, dashing  into  the  air  and  marking  it  off 
into  zigzag  lines  and  angles,  as  if  either  she  did 
not  know  her  own  mind  for  two  seconds  at  a 


THE    WORLD    TRANSFORMED.  115 

time,  or  was  forced  to  take  this  way  to  work  off 
surplus  vitality.  During  all  this  time  I  was 
hoping  to  see  her  mate.  But  if  he  appeared  at 
all,  as  several  times  a  ruby-throated  individual 
did,  she  promptly  sent  him  about  his  business. 

It  was  the  19th  of  July  when  I  decided  that 
sitting  had  finally  begun  on  the  poplar-tree  nest, 
madam  controlling  her  restlessness  sometimes 
for  the  great  space  of  ten  minutes,  and  working 
no  more  on  the  structure.  Now  I  redoubled  my 
vigilance,  going  out  from  the  breakfast-table, 
and  spending  my  day  under  the  rocky  ledge, 
leaving  matters  at  the  trumpet-vine  to  take  care 
of  themselves.  On  the  28th  I  started  out  as 
usual.  There  had  been  a  heavy  fog  all  night 
and  not  a  breath  of  wind  stirring,  and  I  found 
the  whole  world  loaded  with  waterdrops.  When 
I  reached  the  stone  wall  which  bounded  my  de- 
lightsome field,  and  slipped  through  my  private 
gate,  I  stopped  in  amazement  at  the  sight  before 
me.  The  fine  meadow-grass  was  bowed  down 
with  its  weight  of  treasure,  as  if  a  strong  wind 
had  laid  it  low,  and  every  stem  strung  its  whole 
length  with  minute  crystals.  Purple-flowering 
grasses  turned  the  infinitesimal  gems  that 
adorned  every  angle  into  richest  amethysts,  and 
looked  like  jeweled  sprays  fit  for  the  queen  of 
fairies.  Every  spider's  web  was  glorified  into  a 
net  of  pearls  of  many  sizes,  all  threatening,  if 


116     THE  "BIRD  OF  THE  MUSICAL  WING." 

touched,  to  mass  themselves  and  run  down  the 
tunnel,  at  the  bottom  of  which,  it  is  to  be  pre- 
sumed, sat  Madam  Arachne  waiting  for  far  other 
prey. 

I  looked  on  all  this  magnificence  with  admira- 
tion and  dismay.  Should  I  wade  through  that 
sea  of  gems,  which  at  the  touch  of  my  garments 
would  resolve  themselves,  like  the  diamonds  of 
the  fairy  tales,  not  into  harmless  dead  leaves,  but 
into  mere  vulgar  wet  ?  The  hummer  flew  by  to 
her  nest,  goldfinches  called  from  the  ledge.  I 
hesitated  —  and  went  on.  Making  a  path  be- 
fore me  with  my  stick,  stepping  with  care,  to 
disturb  no  drop  unnecessarily,  and  leaving  to 
every  spider  her  net  full  of  pearls,  I  reached 
my  usual  place,  and  seated  myself  in  a  sea  of 
jewels  such  as  no  empress  ever  wore.  And  be- 
hold, the  old  fence  too  was  transfigured  with 
strange  hieroglyphics,  into  which  dampness  had 
changed  the  lichens,  and  one  half-dead  old  tree, 
under  the  same  subtle  influence,  had  clad  its 
bare  and  battered  branches  in  royal  velvet,  of 
varied  tints  of  green,  white,  and  black. 

At  last  I  turned  lingeringly  from  all  this 
beauty  to  the  nest.  Ah !  something  had  hap- 
pened there  too!  Madam  sat  on  the  edge, 
leaned  over,  and  made  some  movements  within. 
At  my  distance  I  could  not  be  positive,  but  I 
could  guess  —  and  I  did,  and  subsequent  events 


A   MURDEROUS-LOOKING   OPERATION.      117 

confirmed  me  —  that  birdlings  were  out.  Like 
other  bird  mammas,  she  sat  on  those  infants  as 
steadily  as  she  had  sat  on  the  eggs,  and  it  was  a 
day  or  two  later  before  I  saw  her  feed.  This 
was  the  murderous-looking  fashion  in  which  that 
dainty  sprite  administered  nourishment  to  her 
babies :  she  clung  to  the  edge  of  the  nest,  and 
appeared  to  address  herself  to  the  task  of  charg- 
ing an  old-fashioned  muzzle-loading  gun,  using 
her  beak  for  a  ramrod,  and  sending  it  well  home, 
violently  enough,  one  would  suppose,  to  disinte- 
grate the  nestling  on  whom  she  operated.  If  I 
had  not  read  Mr.  Torrey's  description  of  hum- 
mingbird feeding,  I  should  have  thought  the 
green-clad  dame  was  destroying  her  offspring, 
instead  of  tenderly  ministering  to  their  wants. 

Bird  babies  grow  apace.  Appetites  waxed 
stronger,  and  the  trumpet-vine  had  dropped  its 
blossoms.  The  little  mother  had  to  seek  new 
fields,  and  she  settled  on  a  patch  of  jewel-weed 
for  her  supplies.  Now,  if  ever,  was  needed  the 
help  of  her  mate,  but  not  once  did  he  show  him- 
self. Was  he  loitering  —  as  the  books  hint  — 
at  a  distance,  and  did  she  go  to  him  now  and 
then,  on  her  many  journeys,  to  tell  him  how  the 
young  folk  progressed  ?  I  cannot  tell ;  I  was 
busy  watching  the  business  partner;  I  had  no 
time  to  hunt  up  absentees.  But  I  have  a 
"  theory,"  which  may  or  may  not  explain  his 


118     THE  "BIRD  OF  THE  MUSICAL  WING." 

apparent  indifference.  It  is  that  the  small  dame, 
so  intolerant  of  neighbors  even  on  her  feeding- 
ground,  simply  cannot  endure  any  one  about 
her,  and  prefers  to  do  all  her  building  and  bring- 
ing-up  herself,  with  no  one  to  "  bother."  Have 
we  not  seen  her  prototype  in  the  human  world  ? 
The  young  hummers  had  been  out  of  their 
shells  for  two  weeks  before  I  saw  them,  and 
then  the  sight  was  unsatisfactory,  —  only  the 
flutter  of  a  tiny  wing,  and  two  sharp  beaks 
thrust  up  above  the  edge.  But  after  this  day 
beaks  were  nearly  always  to  be  seen,  and  some- 
times a  small  round  head,  or  a  glistening  white 
tongue,  or  the  point  of  a  wing  appeared  to  en- 
courage me.  Baby  days  were  now  fast  passing 
away ;  the  mother  fed  industriously,  and  the 
"  pair  of  twins,"  waxed  strong  and  pert,  sat  up 
higher  in  the  nest,  and  began  the  unceasing  wag 
of  the  head  from  side  to  side,  like  their  mother. 
What  a  fairy-like  world  was  this  they  were  now 
getting  acquainted  with  !  What  to  them  was 
the  presence  of  human  beings,  with  their  inter- 
ests, their  anxieties,  and  their  cares,  passing 
far  below  on  the  road,  or  what  even  the  solitary 
bird -student,  sitting  hour  after  hour  by  the 
rocks  in  silence,  turning  inquisitive  eyes  upon 
them  ?  The  green  tree  was  their  world,  and 
their  mother  was  queen.  Valiantly  did  this  in- 
defatigable personage  drive  away  every  intruder, 


THE  BABY  FLIES.  119 

bravely  facing  the  chickadee  who  happened  to 
alight  in  passing,  even  showing  fight  to  the 
wasps  that  buzzed  about  her  castle  in  the  air. 
I  shall  always  think  she  really  knew  me,  and 
had  a  not  unfriendly  feeling  toward  me,  for 
when  I  met  her  about  the  place,  even  away 
from  the  nest,  she  frequently  greeted  me  with 
what  one  would  not  wish  to  be  so  disrespectful 
as  to  call  a  squeaking  twitter. 

As  the  end  of  the  three  weeks  reported  to  be 
necessary  to  fit  baby  hummers  for  life  drew 
near,  I  rarely  left  the  rocky  ledge  for  an  hour 
of  daylight,  so  anxious  was  I  to  see  a  nestling 
try  his  wings.  The  mother  herself  seemed  to  be 
in  a  state  of  expectancy,  and  would  often,  after 
feeding,  linger  about  the  little  home,  as  if  invit- 
ing or  expecting  a  youngster  to  come  out  to  her. 
At  the  last  I  could  not  stay  in  my  bed  in  the 
morning,  but  rushed  out  before  sunrise,  remem- 
bering how  momentous  are  the  early  morning 
hours  in  the  bird-world.  But  it  was  noon  of  the 
twenty-first  day  of  his  life  when  the  first  baby 
flew.  He  had  just  been  fed,  and  he  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  nest  beating  his  wings,  when  all  at 
once  away  he  went,  floating  off  like  a  bit  of 
thistledown,  up  and  out  of  sight.  Though  ex- 
pecting it  and  looking  for  it,  I  was  greatly  star- 
tled when  the  moment  came. 

The  last  act  in  the  little  drama  was  a  pretty 


120     THE  "BIRD  OF  THE  MUSICAL  WING." 

scene  in  the  bushes.  I  was  wandering  about  in 
the  hope  of  one  more  interview,  when  suddenly 
my  lady  and  a  young  one  alighted  on  a  twig 
before  me.  She  appeared  to  feed  the  youth, 
hovered  about  him  an  instant,  and  with  the  tip 
of  her  beak  touched  him  gently  on  the  forehead. 
Then,  with  a  farewell  twitter,  both  flew  away 
over  my  head,  so  closely  they  almost  swept  me 
with  their  wings.  And  so  the  pretty  story  of  the 
nest  was  ended. 


VII. 

MY  LADY  IN   GREEN. 

TRULY  a  fairy-like  dwelling  was  that  nest  on 
the  apple-tree  ;  about  the  size  of  a  walnut,  with 
one  leaf  for  a  shelter.  It  was  placed  —  I  had 
almost  said  grew  —  in  a  slender  crotch  of  a 
low-hanging  bough.  No  coarse  grass  stems  or 
bark  fibres  bound  it  to  its  slight  moorings ;  it 
seemed  to  stand  by  its  own  fitness,  to  be  a  part 
of  the  branch  itself.  Soft,  creamy-hued  vege- 
table cotton,  pressed  and  felted  into  a  certain 
firmness  of  consistency,  formed  the  structure, 
and  a  close  covering  of  lichens  held  it  in  shape 
and  completed  its  beauty,  while  giving  an  apple- 
branch  tone  that  made  it  almost  invisible.  An 
inch  in  depth  and  the  same  in  breadth  furnished 
ample  quarters  for  the  twin  hummingbird  babies 
whose  home  it  was. 

But  the  charm  that  had  drawn  me  across  four 
States  to  study  it  was  its  situation.  For  when 
lias  one  of  those  airy  sprites,  with  the  whole  ex-| 
panse  of  the  tallest  trees  at  command,  chosen  to1 
come  down  to  the  level  of  mortals,  to  set  up  her 
domestic  gods  within  reach  of  a  human  hand, 


122  MY  LADY   IN    GREEN. 

and  within  hearing  of  a  human  ear  ?  What 
friendly  spirit  bade  her  select  a  scantily  leaved 
branch,  backed  by  the  heavy  foliage  of  luxuri- 
ant .maples,  that  rendei-ed  her  fairy-like  home 
conspicuous  whatever  the  weather  and  wherever 
the  sunlight  fell  ?  By  what  happy  thought  did 
she  settle  upon  a  low  bough  with  long  swaying 
ends,  by  which  to  draw  it  gently  down,  and  thus 
let  the  enraptured  bird-lover  watch  closely  day 
by  day  the  growth  and  development  of  her 
darlings?  and  so  near  a  house  that  one  could 
look  into  it  from  a  window  ?  Long  railway 
trips  in  dusty  August,  the  hot  days  and  hotter 
nights  of  that  fiery  month,  and  the  various 
minor  discomforts  of  close  summer  -  boarder 
quarters  were  all  forgotten  in  a  great  joy. 

Nothing  was  ever  more  bewitching  to  watch 
than  that  atom  in  feathers,  the  hummingbird 
mother.  She  was  so  tiny  that  her  life  might  be 
crushed  out  between  a  thumb  and  finger,  yet 
she  was  full  of  love  and  anxiety  about  her  bird- 
lings.  She  was  thoughtful  in  her  care  of  them, 
and  industrious  in  supplying  their  wants.  In  a 
word,  she  was  a  pattern  of  perfect  and  beautiful 
motherhood.  Charming  it  was,  beyond  expres- 
sion, to  see  her  come  home  to  her  beloved, 
embroidering  angles  in  the  air,  —  hummingbird 
fashion,  —  pausing  a  dozen  times  on  wing,  look- 
ing at  them  from  as  many  points  of  view,  and 


BEAUTIFUL   MOTHERHOOD.  123 

at  length  dropping  lightly  as  a  feather  upon 
the  edge,  like  a  fairy  godmother  with  her  gifts 
of  food ;  and  then  in  a  few  moments  suddenly 
rise,  up  —  up  —  up,  with  body  erect  as  if  mount- 
ing an  invisible  ladder,  till,  at  five  or  six  feet 
above,  she  shot  away  so  swiftly  no  eye  could 
follow  her. 

When  startled,  as  she  frequently  was  in  her 
close  proximity  to  our  noisy  race,  she  darted  off 
like  a  flash,  forward  or  backward,  upward  or 
downward,  never  turning,  but  dashing  in  any 
direction  opposite  to  the  quarter  from  which  the 
disturbance  came.  On  the  rare  occasions  when 
she  was  not  frightened,  she  seemed  unable  to 
tear  herself  away.  She  would  hover  about  her 
nest,  five  or  six  inches  from  it,  this  side  and 
that,  over  and  around  again,  with  e}res  appar- 
ently fixed  on  her  treasures,  sometimes  daintily 
touching  with  the  tip  of  her  beak  the  nest,  or 
one  of  the  nestlings,  in  a  caressing  manner. 

The  small  dame  too,  though  wary  and  easily 
startled,  had  a  great  deal  of  repose  of  manner. 
When  settled  over  her  infants,  she  sat  still 
most  of  the  time,  not  moving  her  head  from 
side  to  side  in  the  restless  way  of  some  of  her 
family,  but  looking  straight  before  her  and  as 
quiet  as  a  thrush. 

In  another  way  the  little  mother  ignored  the 
traditions ;  she  did  not  always  hum.  Until  the 


124  MY  LADY   IN   GREEN. 

little  ones  were  ten  or  twelve  days  old  she  came 
to  the  nest  in  perfect  silence  ;  after  that  she 
began  to  hum,  and  by  the  time  they  were  two 
weeks  old  she  came  with  her  characteristic  note 
every  time. 

It  is  interesting  to  see  how  all  birds  recognize 
and  respect  the  right  of  a  mother  to  her  own 
tree,  or  the  part  of  a  tree  on  which  she  has  set 
up  her  home.  Big  birds  like  robins  and  thrash- 
ers, even  belligerent  ones,  who  will  not  generally 
allow  themselves  to  be  driven,  usually  depart 
speedily  before  the  beak  of  the  least  of  mothers 
asserting  her  ownership  of  a  tree  or  bush ;  not 
because  they  are  afraid  of  her,  but  because  they 
appreciate  the  justice  of  her  title,  and  demand 
the  same  for  themselves. 

Small  as  was  the  apple-tree  dweller,  she  had 
managed,  before  I  knew  her,  to  establish  her 
claim  to  her  own  vicinity.  Goldfinches  and 
yellow  warblers,  vireos  and  robins,  were  about ; 
I  heard  them  on  all  sides,  but  not  one  intruded 
upon  her  tree  or  the  neighboring  sides  of  the 
maples.  As  the  young  progressed  and  waxed 
bumptious,  she  became  more  and  more  cautious. 
She  made  many  more  angles  and  observations  in 
the  air  before  alighting,  looking  at  them  from 
every  possible  side,  as  if  wishing  to  assure  herself 
that  nothing  had  happened  in  her  absence.  She 
even  resented  the  presence  under  her  tree  of  a 


BABIES    THE   SIZE    OF  A   BEE.  125 

hen  and  chickens,  and  flew  at  them  with  savage 
cries.  But  the  barnyard  matron  was  too  much 
absorbed  in  her  own  maternal  anxieties  to  pay 
any  heed  to  the  midget  buzzing  and  squeaking 
around  her  head  ;  and  madam  herself  seemed 
to  appreciate  the  absurdity  of  her  proceeding, 
for  in  a  moment  she  returned  to  her  duties,  and 
remonstrated  no  more. 

How  shall  I  picture  the  growth  and  devel- 
opment of  the  twins  in  that  cherished  home ! 
Where  shall  I  find  words  delicate  and  subtle 
enough  to  describe  the  change  as  I  saw  it  from 
day  to  day,  from  puny  atoms  the  size  of  a 
honey-bee  to  fledged  and  full-grown  humming- 
birds !  Every  morning,  watching  and  waiting 
till  the  whole  of  our  little  world  was  at  break- 
fast, I  drew  down  the  fateful  branch  and  in- 
dulged in  a  long,  close  look  at  them,  and  no 
language  at  my  command  is  adequate  to  de- 
scribe the  process  of  unfolding. 

At  first  sight  of  the  two  I  was  lost  in  amaze- 
ment. Could  those  minute,  caterpillar-like  ob- 
jects, covered  with  scanty  and  scattering  hairs, 
lying  side  by  side  in  the  bottom  of  their  minia- 
ture cradle,  be  the  offspring  of  the  winged  sprites 
of  the  bird-world?  Would  those  short,  wide, 
duck-like  beaks  ever  become  the  needle-shaped 
probers  of  flowers?  Would  wings  ever  grow 


126  MY  LADY  IN   GREEN. 

on  those  grub-like  bodies  ?  They  were  at  this 
time  four  and  five  days  old;  for  though  they 
appeared  like  twins,  I  learned  from  previous 
watchers  that  there  was  a  day's  difference  be- 
tween them. 

After  I  had  looked  and  wondered,  and  re- 
turned to  my  seat  behind  the  window-blinds  to 
watch,  the  mother  came  to  feed.  It  would  be 
pleasant  to  imagine  that  the  food  brought  by 
that  dainty  dame,  and  administered  to  her  be- 
loved brood,  consisted  of  the  nectar  of  flowers, 
drawn  from  the  sweet  peas  that  filled  the  gar- 
den with  beauty  and  perfume,  the  gay  flaunting 
scarlet  beans  over  the  way,  or  the  golden  drops 
of  the  jewel-weed  modestly  hiding  under  their 
broad  leaves,  in  the  hollow  down  by  the  bridge. 
But  Science,  in  her  relentless  substitution  of 
fact  for  fancy,  does  not  allow  us  this  agreeable 
delusion.  Something  far  more  substantial,  not 
to  say  gross,  we  are  informed,  is  required  to  build 
up  the  muscle  and  bone  of  the  atoms  in  the  nest. 
Meat  is  what  they  must  have,  and  meat  it  was, 
in  the  shape  of  tiny  spiders  and  perhaps  other 
minute  creatures,  that  mamma  was  seeking  when 
she  hovered  under  the  maple  boughs,  now  and 
then  touching  a  twig  or  the  underside  of  a  leaf. 
Indeed,  one  might  occasionally  see  her  pick  off 
her  spider  as  deftly  as  one  would  pick  a  peach. 

Hummingbird  feeding  has  been  graphically 


A  FEARFUL    SIGHT.  127 

described  more  than  once ;  but  when  the  food- 
bearer  arrived  I  seized  my  glass,  eager  to  see  it 
again.  This  is  the  way  my  fairy-like .  mother 
administered  the  staff  of  life  to  her  tender  bird- 
lings.  Alighting  on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  she 
leaned  over,  and  with  her  beak  jerked  a  little 
head  into  sight  above  the  edge ;  then  down  the 
baby's  throat  she  thrust  her  long  beak  its  whole 
length ;  and  it  looked  actually  longer  than  the 
youngster  itself.  Then  she  prodded  and  shook 
the  unfortunate  nestling,  who  seemed  to  hold 
on,  till  I  wondered  his  head  did  not  come  off. 
It  was  truly  fearful  to  witness.  In  a  moment, 
shaking  off,  apparently  with  difficulty,  that  one, 
who  dropped  out  of  sight,  she  jerked  up  the 
other,  and  treated  it  in  the  same  rough  way, 
shaking  her  own  body  from  head  to  tail  by  her 
exertion.  Thus  alternately  she  fed  them,  three 
or  four  times,  before  she  finished  ;  and  then  she 
calmly  slipped  on  to  the  nest,  wriggling  and 
twisting  about  as  if  she  were  pawing  them  over 
with  her  feet.  There  she  sat  for  five  or  six  min- 
utes before  darting  away  for  fresh  supplies,  while 
I  wondered  if  the  two  victims  of  this  Spartan 
method  were  lying  dead,  stabbed  to  death,  or 
smothered,  by  their  own  mother.  But  I  did  her 
tenderness  and  her  motherhood  injustice.  Reg- 
ularly every  half  hour  she  came  and  repeated 
this  murderous-looking  process,  unless,  as  often 


128  MY   LADY  IN   GREEN. 

happened,  she  was  frightened  away  by  the  peo- 
ple about. 

Till  .her  little  ones  were  two  weeks  old,  the 
devoted  if  apparently  ungentle  parent  continued 
to  feed  them  at  intervals  of  thirty  minutes,  the 
neck-dislocating  performance  being  always  as 
violent  as  I  have  described.  After  that  date  she 
came  more  frequently,  every  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes,  and  their  development  went  on  more 
rapidly.  At  the  early  age  of  five  and  six  days, 
even  before  their  eyes  were  open,  the  young 
birds  began  to  show  that  they  had  minds  of  their 
own,  and  knew  when  they  had  enough  (which 
some  folk  bigger  than  birds  never  know).  When 
one  was  sufficiently  filled,  or  sufficiently  racked, 
it  would  shut  its  mouth  and  refuse  to  open, 
though  mamma  touched  it  gently  with  her  beak. 

"  The  world  slipped  away  and  I  was  in  fairy- 
land," wrote  my  old  friend  the  Enthusiast,  while 
watching,  in  another  part  of  the  country  that 
same  summer,  the  nest-building  of  a  humming- 
bird. To  me,  also,  the  study  of  the  life  and 
affairs  of  this  nest,  to  which  I  gave  nearly  every 
hour  of  daylight  for  weeks,  seemed  like  a  glimpse 
into  that  land  of  childhood's  dreams,  except- 
ing when  the  outer  world  obtruded  too  rudely. 
For  the  life  that  went  on  under  and  around 
that  charmed  spot  was  far  from  fairy-like.  The 
"  hard  facts "  of  human  existence  were  ever 


THE  NEIGHBORHOOD   SHOW.  129 

uppermost,  and  there  were  a  thousand  disturb- 
ances between  breakfast  and  bedtime.  Indeed, 
the  nest  was  the  neighborhood  show ;  everybody 
longed  to  pull  down  the  branch  and  look  at  it. 
Men,  women,  and  boys  ;  master,  mistress,  and 
maids ;  horses,  cattle,  and  birds,  conspired  to 
keep  up  an  excitement  around  the  apple-tree. 
It  seemed  a  magnet  to  draw  to  itself  all  the 
noise  and  confusion  of  that  peaceful  village. 

There  was  the  man  who  assumed  the  office 
of  showman,  brought  a  chair  out  under  the  tree, 
pulled  down  the  branch,  and  invited  every  passer- 
by to  step  up  and  look,  with  the  comment,  "  Big 
business  raising  such  a  family  as  that! "  while  I 
sat  in  terror,  dreading  lest  the  branch  slip  from 
his  careless  fingers  and  fling  the  little  ones  out 
into  the  universe,  an  accident  I  saw  befall  a 
chipping  sparrow's  brood,  as  already  related. 

There,  too,  was  the  horse  who  halted  under 
the  tree  and  regaled  himself  with  apples  which 
he  gathered  for  himself,  jerking  his  branch  vio- 
lently ;  happily  not  the  branch,  or  there  would 
have  been  a  sudden  end  to  dreams  of  fairyland. 

Above  all,  there  were  the  summer  boarders, 
to  whom  in  that  quiet  rural  life  any  object  of 
interest  was  a  godsend  and  greedily  welcomed. 
Every  day,  and  many  times  a  day,  a  procession 
passed  on  the  way  to  the  "  Springs  "  of  odorous 
—  not  to  say  odious  —  memory,  equipped  with 


130  MY  LADY   IN  GREEN.  • 

tumblers  and  cups,  pitchers  and  pails,  and  every 
one  paused  at  the  little  show  in  front  of  the 
house,  where,  alas  !  there  was  no  fence.  Well 
dressed  city  women  stopped,  and  stared,  and 
pointed  with  parasols,  often  asking  for  a  look 
into  the  nest. 

All  this  hindered  the  poor  little  mother  in  her 
domestic  duties.  She  would  come  near,  alight 
on  a  twig  far  above,  and  wait,  hoping  to  reach 
her  darlings,  till  some  laugh  or  movement  startled 
her  away  ;  and  usually  just  before  dark,  while 
the  village  was  at  supper,  she  had  to  feed  very 
often  to  make  up  for  short  commons  all  day. 

There  were  other  dangers  too,  which  I  hoped 
did  not  worry  the  "  wee  birdie  "  as  they  did  me. 
Two  or  three  times  a  strong  wind  —  a  November 
gale  out  of  date,  rocked  and  tossed  that  tiny 
cradle  all  day,  while  I  frequently  held  my 
breath,  in  fear  of  seeing  the  twins  flung  out. 
But  the  canny  little  creatures  cuddled  down  in 
the  nest,  which  by  that  time  seemed  too  small 
to  hold  them,  showing  only  beaks  and,  later, 
immature  tails  above  the  edge. 

Once,  very  early  in  their  lives,  came  a  steady 
rain.  All  night  long  the  devoted  mother  re- 
ceived the  downpour  on  her  back,  and  all  the 
next  day,  with  short  intervals  of  food-seeking, 
she  remained  at  her  post,  while  the  water  ran  off 
her  tail  in  streams.  She  kept  her  younglings 


A    MALICIOUS-LOOKING   APPLE.  131 

warm  and  dry,  but  the  nest  was  sadly  damaged, 
the  lichen  covering  was  softened  and  brightened 
in  color,  and  the  whole  structure  spread  and 
settled,  so  that  I  feared  it  would  not  hold  to- 
gether till  the  little  ones  were  grown. 

There,  too,  was  the  ever-present  menace  of 
falling  apples,  which  were  constantly  dropping 
from  the  tree.  A  well-loaded  branch  hung  over 
the  nest,  and  one  particularly  malicious-looking 
specimen  of  an  angry  reddish  hue,  suspended  as 
it  appeared  exactly  above,  had  a  deep  dimple  in 
one  side  which  gave  it  a  sinister  expression,  and 
one  could  not  help  the  suspicion  that  it  might 
delight  in  letting  go  its  hold  and  dashing  that 
frivolous  nursery  to  the  ground. 

The  very  leaves  themselves  appeared  to  show 
character.  I  was  never  so  impressed  by  their 
behavior,  though  I  had  previously  seen  some 
curious  performances  that  looked  very  much  as 
if  leaves  have  minds  of  their  own.  Three  inches 
from  the  little  homestead  grew  a  twig  bearing  a 
clump  of  leaves,  perhaps  five  or  six.  When  I 
began  watching,  the  largest  one  hung  closely 
over  the  nest,  on  the  side  toward  my  window,  so 
that  part  of  the  time  the  whole  affair  was  hidden 
from  sight.  In  the  interest  of  Science  (in  whose 
name,  as  well  as  in  the  name  of  Liberty,  many 
crimes  are  committed),  I  thought  it  necessary 
quietly  to  remove  that  leaf.  Then,  although 


132  MY  LADY  IN   GREEN. 

the  remainder  of  the  bunch  still  hung  over  the 
nest,  two  or  three  inches  above,  my  view  was 
perfect,  for  I  could  look  under  them.  Strange 
to  say,  however,  in  a  day  or  two  I  noticed  that 
another  leaf  had  begun  to  droop  over  the  tiny 
homestead.  In  the  morning  and  again  in  the 
afternoon,  it  held  itself  well  up  out  of  my  way, 
but  when  the  sun  was  hot  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  it  fell  lower  and  lower,  till  ,it  was  almost 
as  good  a  screen  as  its  elder  brother  had  been. 
Nor  was  that  the  end  of  its  vagaries.  When  a 
strong  wind  came  up  from  the  south,  that  leaf 
drew  closer,  and  actually  hugged  the  nest,  so 
that  I  could  not  see  it  at  all.  I  longed  to 
remove  it,  but  I  had  not  the  heart  to  deprive 
the  nestlings  of  their  shelter.  Strangest  of  all 
leaf  eccentricities,  however,  was  the  conduct  of 
another  one  of  the  same  clump,  which  during 
a  northwest  gale  came  down  at  the  back,  and 
somehow  wedged  itself  between  the  nest  and 
branch,  so  that  it  formed  a  perfect  shield  on 
that  side,  so  snug  indeed  that  the  mother  could 
hardly  get  under  it  to  feed  her  little  ones.  And 
so  it  remained  all  day,  during  a  wind  that 
threatened  to  blow  the  whole  tree  down.  I  am 
aware  that  this  will  be  hard  to  credit.  But  I 
examined  it  carefully ;  I  know  the  mother  did 
not  arrange  it,  and  I  do  not  exaggerate  in  the 
slightest  degree. 


GROWING    UP.  133 

Let  me  picture  the  apple-tree  babies  at  one 
week  old,  or  seven  and  eight  days  respectively 
—  to  be  exact.  On  taking  my  regular  morn- 
ing observation  I  noticed  white  spine-like  pro- 
cesses, the  beginning  of  feathers,  among  the 
hairs  on  their  bodies.  The  heads  looked  as  if 
covered  with,  in  the  language  of  commerce,  a 
"  fine  mix,"  minutest  possible  white  specks  on  a 
black  ground,  which,  as  days  went  by,  increased 
in  size  and  length  till  they  developed  into  feath- 
ers. Beaks,  too,  were  changing.  The  broad, 
flat  surface  showed  inclination  to  draw  into  a 
point  at  the  tip,  which  would  go  on  stretching 
up  day  by  day,  till  by  the  time  the  birdlings 
could  fly  they  would  be  nearly  as  well  equipped 
for  hummingbird  life  as  the  mother  herself. 
On  that  seventh  day,  also,  I  discovered  the  first 
voluntary  movement ;  one  of  the  pair  lifted  his 
head  above  the  edge  of  the  nest,  and  changed 
his  position  on  the  bed  of  cotton. 

Now  began  the  restlessness  characteristic  of 
our  smallest  bird.  From  the  age  of  one  week 
they  were  rarely  for  a  moment  still,  excepting 
when  asleep.  One  moment  they  would  lie  side 
by  side,  two  tiny  beaks  sticking  up  close  to- 
gether, and  the  next,  one  would  struggle  and 
twist  about  till  his  beak  showed  on  the  opposite 
side.  Occasionally  one  made  himself  comforta- 
ble by  lying  across  his  fellow,  but  very  soon  the 


"134  MY  LADY  IN   GREEN. 

lower  one  squirmed  out  from  under.  At  nine 
days  they  filled  the  nest  so  full  that  their  bodies 
showed  above  the  edge,  and  gave  it  the  appear- 
ance from  my  window  of  being  filled  with  hairy 
and  very  restless  caterpillars. 

The  eighth  and  the  ninth  day  of  their  little 
lives  opened  their  eyes  on  the  beautiful  green 
world  about  them,  and  backs  began  to  look 
ragged,  as  if  feathers  were  at  hand.  Character 
was  developing  also.  When  mamma  touched 
a  closed  beak  in  invitation  to  lunch,  it  would 
sometimes  respond  with  a  quick  little  jerk,  as 
who  should  say,  "  Let  me  alone  !  "  or  "  Don't 
bother  me !  "  and  on  this  day  began  also  the 
attempt  to  dress  the  feathers  yet  to  appear,  and 
the  running  out  of  the  bristle-like  tongue. 

A  great  surprise  awaited  me  on  the  fifth  day 
of  my  enchanting  study,  the  tenth  of  their  life. 
When  I  paid  my  morning  visit  to  the  bewitch- 
ing pair,  lying,  as  always  now,  close  up  to  the 
edge  of  their  frail  cup,  they  looked  at  me  with 
clear,  calm  black  eyes,  and  saluted  me  in  low, 
plaintive  voices.  I  should  hardly  have  been 
more  startled  if  they  had  spoken  to  me. 

They  assumed  a  new  attitude  also  toward 
,mamma,  refusing  to  allow  her  to  crush  them 
down  into  the  nest  and  sit  upon  them,  as  if  they 
were  babies  still.  They  would  keep  their  heads 
up,  and  sometimes  she  really  had  a  struggle  in 


LIKE  BUNDLES    OF  RAGS.  135 

taking  her  old  place  on  the  nest.  Apparently  it 
is  with  humming  as  with  some  human  mothers, 
hard  to  realize  that  their  offspring  are  no 
longer  infants.  On  one  occasion  it  looked  as 
if  the  two  united  in  their  rebellion  and  pushed 
her  away,  for  she  actually  lost  her  balance  and 
plunged  forward  off  the  nest.  She  recovered 
herself  almost  instantly,  but  it  was  a  real  tumble 
for  the  moment.  At  eleven  days  began  the  flut- 
ter of  wings  that  should  hardly  rest  in  life. 
Shadowy  little  things  they  were,  lifted  above  the 
nest  and  waved  rapidly  a  few  seconds  at  a  time. 

As  the  interesting  nestlings  approached  the 
end  of  their  second  week,  I  began  to  be  con- 
cerned about  the  frail  walls  of  their  cradle. 
They  had  become  so  lively  in  movements  that  it 
rocked  and  swayed  in  its  place,  and  on  one  side 
the  cotton  protruded  through  its  lichen  cover.  I 
dreaded  to  see  a  little  foot  thrust  out  at  this 
point,  and  wondered  if  my  clumsy  fingers  could 
perform  the  delicate  task  of  replacing  it. 

On  the  morning  they  were  two  weeks  old  a 
strong  wind  set  in  from  the  northwest,  and  I 
drew  down  the  branch  with  dread  of  finding 
it  empty.  The  younglings  were  wide  awake, 
though  settled  down  into  the  nest.  They  looked 
at  me  and  uttered  their  soft  cries.  They  now 
resembled  bundles  of  rags,  for  feathers  were 
breaking  out  all  over  them  in  the  well-defined 


136  MY  LADY  IN   GREEN. 

pattern  or  design  I  had  observed  for  several 
days.  Tiny  tail  feathers  with  white  tips  showed 
distinctly,  and  it  was  evident  that  they  were  fast 
growing  up.  The  mother  plainly  accepted  the 
fact,  for  she  made  no  further  effort  to  sit  upon 
them. 

As  the  day  wore  on  the  wind  increased  to  a 
gale,  and  my  anxiety  kept  pace  with  its  violence. 
Surely  no  August  babies  could  be  prepared  for 
such  November  weather.  Would  a  fall  kill  the 
delicate  birdlings?  Should  I  have  to  rescue 
them  ?  Hardly  five  minutes  at  a  time  did 
I  take  my  eyes  off  the  nest,  tossed  on  its  long 
swaying  branch  like  a  ship  in  the  maddest  sea. 
Even  the  mother  was  blown  off  the  edge,  and 
I  rejoiced  that  she  had  chosen  the  south  side 
of  the  tree,  for  the  north  side  branches  were 
thrown  upward  and  over  with  a  violence  that 
would  have  shaken  off  the  nest  itself. 

But  the  two  sturdy  youngsters  sat  all  day 
with  heads  up,  and  tails  just  showing  above  the 
edge,  looking  out  on  the  raging  sea  of  leaves 
and  riding  the  storm  like  veterans.  Only  once 
did  I  see  one  try  to  change  his  position,  and 
then  for  a  second  I  thought  he  was  lost ;  but 
he  recovered  himself  and  made  no  more  rash 
attempts. 

From  this  day  the  twins  no  longer  stayed  in 
the  nest,  but  took  their  position  across  the  top, 


SHE  ALIGHTED    ON   THEIR  BACKS.        137 

resting  on  the  edges.  By  the  sixteenth  day 
tails  had  attained  respectable  dimensions,  and 
they  were  clad  in  the  complete  dress  of  feathers, 
though,  having  not  as  yet  learned  to  manage 
their  garments,  individual  feathers  stood  out  all 
over  and  were  blown  by  every  breeze  into  tiny 
green  ripples.  In  their  new  position  across  the 
top  they  of  course  entirely  covered  the  edge,  so 
that  the  mother  was  puzzled  to  find  a  place  for 
her  feet  when  she  came  to  feed,  until  she  took  to 
alighting  on  the  backs  of  her  monopolizing  off- 
spring. 

All  through  these  delightful  days  I  had  kept 
a  sharp  lookout  for  the  father  of  this  charm- 
ing family,  for,  as  is  well  known,  there  is  a 
charge  against  the  ruby-throat,  that  he  takes 
no  part  in  the  home  life,  that  he  never  visits  the 
nest.  Whether  it  be  that  he  is  too  gay  a  rover 
to  attend  to  his  duties,  whether  —  as  is  said  of 
the  turkey  and  some  other  birds  —  he  is  pos- 
sessed of  a  rage  for  destroying  his  own  young, 
whether  he  keeps  out  of  sight  as  a  measure  of 
prudence  for  the  safety  of  the  nest,  or  whether 
that  fearless  and  industrious  little  mate  of  his 
feels  capable  of  managing  her  own  affairs  and  so 
drives  him  away,  no  one  has  as  yet  been  rash 
enough  to  say.  That  remains  for  future  observ- 
ers to  find  out.  The  points  most  interesting  to 
discover  at  present  are,  if  it  is  a  fact  that  he 


138  MY  LADY  IN   GEE  EN. 

never  shows  himself ;  if  he  remains  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  joins  his  family  later,  as  has  been 
asserted ;  or  if  he  resumes  his  care-free  bachelor 
life,  and  sees  them  no  more. 

Only  three  times  was  my  close  watch  for  vis- 
iting hummingbirds  rewarded,  and  those  were 
not  at  all  conclusive.  One  morning,  attracted 
by  the  shimmering  floor  of  jewel  which  Lake 
Champlain  presented  under  the  morning  sun,  I 
sat  looking  out  over  my  neighbor's  cornfield, 
where  goldfinch  babies  were  filling  the  air 
with  their  quaint  little  two-note  cries,  absorbed 
in  the  lovely  view,  when  suddenly  I  heard 
a  whir  of  wings  and  looked  up  to  see  a  hum- 
mer flying  about  near  the  nest  where  madam 
was  sitting.  It  made  two  or  three  jerks,  ap- 
proaching within  six  inches,  and  then  darted 
away.  Instantly  she  followed,  but  not  as  if  in 
pursuit.  There  were  no  cries.  It  seemed  to  me 
a  friendly  move,  an  invitation  and  a  response. 
Alert  as  she  was,  she  must  have  seen  the  stran- 
ger, as  he  —  or  she  —  hovered  about,  yet  she 
did  not  resent  it.  In  a  few  minutes  she  returned 
and  settled  herself  on  her  nest. 

Soon  I  heard  the  familiar  sound  again,  and  a 
bird  dashed  past  the  window,  not  going  near 
the  nest.  My  little  dame  in  the  apple-tree  paid 
no  attention.  An  hour  later  a  hummingbird 
appeared,  perhaps  the  same  one,  without  flying 


GREETING   ME    WITH   CRIES.  139 

near  the  apple-tree.  Madam  left  her  nest  and 
they  had  a  chase,  both  passing  out  of  sight.  In 
neither  case  was  there  any  show  of  anger,  cries, 
loud  hum,  or  savage  rushes,  as  I  have  seen  when 
hummingbirds  are  on  the  war-path.  In  neither 
case,  also,  could  I  see  the  visiting  bird  plainly 
enough  to  determine  the  sex.  It  may  have  been 
the  missing  spouse,  but  then,  also,  it  may  not 
have  been.  . 

Nor  did  it  trouble  me  that  I  could  not  solve 
the  mystery.  Very  early  in  my  study  of  birds  I 
learned  to  be  content  to  let  many  things  remain 
unknown,  hoping  that  some  future  day  would 
reveal  them,  and  to  enjoy  what  Nature  offers  me 
to-day  without  mourning  over  things  she  this 
time  withholds. 

August  was  drawing  to  an  end,  and  claims 
from  the  outer  world  grew  clamorous.  It  wrung 
my  heart  to  abandon  those  babies  before  they 
could  fly,  but  relentlessly  the  days  went  by. 
The  last  one  arrived,  and  I  went  out  for  a  fare- 
well look  at  the  little  ones,  now  eighteen  and 
nineteen  days  old.  They  sat  as  usual  side  by 
side  across  the  nest,  and  greeted  rne  with  their 
sweet  little  cries.  They  were  completely  feath- 
ered, though  here  and  there  one  of  the  infan- 
tile hairs  still  stuck  up  between  the  plumage, 
the  backs  a  golden  green,  and  the  throat  and 
breast  snowy  white.  They  returned  my  gaze 


140  MY  LADY   IN   GREEN. 

with  wide,  calm  eyes,  and  did  not  shrink  from 
the  finger  which  gently  stroked  their  backs. 
The  home  which  had  held  them  was  almost  a 
complete  wreck,  hardly  more  than  a  flattened 
platform,  but  they  clung  to  it  still,  and  I  knew 
that  I  should  miss  the  sight  I  longed  for,  the 
first  flight.  I  stayed  all  day,  putting  off  the 
parting  till  the  last  possible  moment,  watching 
and  hoping ;  but  when  I  started  for  the  night 
train,  I  left  the  pair  still  sitting  on  the  ruins 
of  their  nest.  And  thus  ended  the  only  glimpse 
into  fairyland  I  shall  ever  enjoy. 

A  few  days  later  came  to  me,  several  hundred 
miles  away,  the  word  that  the  elder  bird  (who 
was  a  Sunday  baby)  had  taken  flight  the  day 
he  was  three  weeks  old,  and  had  stayed  about 
his  native  apple-tree  all  day,  while  the  younger 
clung  to  the  wreck  for  two  days  more,  and  no 
one  chanced  to  see  him  fly. 


VIII. 

YOUNG   AMERICA   IN   FEATHERS. 

"  How  like  are  birds  and  men  !  "  said  Emer- 
son, and  if  he  had  known  nature's  loveliest 
creatures  as  well  as  he  did  his  own  race,  he 
might  have  affirmed  it  more  emphatically ;  for 
to  know  birds  well  is  to  be  astonished  at  the 
"  human  nature  "  they  display. 

In  our  latitude  July  is  distinctly  the  babies' 
month.  When  wild  roses  give  place  to  sun- 
kissed  meadow  lilies,  when  daisies  drop  their 
petals  and  meadow-sweet  whitens  the  pastures, 
when  blueberries  peep  out  from  their  glossy 
coverts  and  raspberries  begin  to  redden  on  the 
hill,  then  from  every  side  come  the  baby  cries 
of  younglings  just  out  of  the  nest,  and  every- 
where are  anxious  parents  hurrying  about,  seek- 
ing food  to  stuff  hungry  little  mouths,  or  trying 
to  keep  too  venturesome  young  folk  out  of  dan- 
ger. For  Young  Americans  in  feathers  are 
wonderfully  like  Young  Americans  in  lawn  in 
self-confidence  and  recklessness. 

One  evening  in  a  certain  July,  up  on  the 
coast  of  Maine,  I  watched  the  frantic  efforts  of 


142  YOUNG   AMERICA    IN  FEATHERS. 

a  pair  of  Maryland  yellow-throats  —  tiny  crea- 
tures in  brown  and  gold  —  to  coax  their  self- 
willed  offspring  to  a  more  retired  position  than 
he  chose  to  occupy.  With  genuine  "Young 
America  "  spirit  he  scorned  the  conservatism  of 
his  elders.  Though  both  parents  hovered  about 
him,  coaxing,  warning,  perhaps  threatening,  not 
a  feather  stirred  ;  stolid  and  wide-eyed  he  stood, 
while  the  father  flitted  about  the  bush  in  great 
excitement,  jerking  his  body  this  way  and  that, 
flirting  his  wings,  now  perking  his  tail  up  like 
that  of  a  wren,  again  opening  and  closing  it 
like  a  fan  in  the  hands  of  an  embarrassed  girl, 
and  the  mother  added  her  entreaties  to  his,  dart- 
ing hither  and  thither,  calling  most  anxiously, 
—  both,  in  their  distress,  rashly  exposing  them- 
selves to  what  might,  for  all  they  knew,  be  one 
of  the  death-dealing  machines  we  so  often  turn 
against  them. 

Nothing  had  the  slightest  effect  upon  the 
yellow-throated  youngster  until  his  own  sensa- 
tions interested  him,  and  his  %  parents  suddenly 
acquired  new  importance  in  his  horizon.  When 
hunger  assailed  him,  and,  looking  about  for  sup- 
plies, he  spied  his  provider  on  the  next  bush 
with  a  beak  full  of  tempting  (and  wriggling) 
dainties,  and  when  he  found  his  wily  parent 
deaf  to  his  cries,  and  understood  that  not  until 
he  flew  behind  the  leafy  screen  could  he  receive 


VAGARIES    OF  A  BABY.  143 

the  food  he  craved,  then  he  yielded,  and  joined 
his  relieved  relatives  out  of  my  sight. 

Many  times  after  that  morning  did  the  vaga- 
ries of  that  young  yellow-throat  give  me  oppor- 
tunity to  study  the  ways  of  his  family.  Having 
newly  escaped  from  the  nursery,  in  a  thorny  bush 
behind  thick-growing  alders,  his  strongest  desire 
apparently  was  to  see  the  world,  and  those  out- 
lying dead  twigs,  convenient  for  the  grasp  of 
baby  feet,  were  particularly  attractive  to  him. 
Every  day  for  nearly  a  week,  as  I  passed  into 
the  quiet  old  pasture,  I  stopped  to  interview  the 
youngster,  and  always  found  him  inquisitive, 
and  evidently,  in  his  own  estimation,  far  wiser 
than  his  elders,  who  were  nearly  wild  over  his 
conduct. 

This  pasture  of  about  forty  acres,  lying  behind 
my  temporary  home,  was  the  joy  of  my  heart, 
being  delightfully  neglected  and  fast  relapsing 
into  the  enchanting  wildness  of  nature.  In  a 
deep  bed  fringed  with  a  charming  confusion  of 
trees  and  bushes  ran  a  tiny  stream,  which  in  the 
spring  justified  its  right  to  the  title  of  river. 
Scattering  clumps  of  alders  and  young  trees  of 
many  kinds  made  it  a  birds'  paradise,  while 
wild  cherries  and  berries  of  all  sorts,  with  abun- 
dant insect  life,  offered  a  spread  table  the  whole 
summer  long. 

Of  flowers  it  was  the   chosen   home.     From 


144  YOUNG   AMERICA    IN  FEATHERS. 

the  first  anemone  to  the  last  goldenrod  standing 
above  the  snow,  there  was  a  bewildering  confu- 
sion ;  fragrant  with  roses  in  June,  gorgeous  with 
meadow  lilies  in  July,  and  rank  upon  rank  of 
budded  goldenrod  promising  glory  enough  for 
August,  with  all  the  floral  hosts  that  accom- 
pany them.  Great  patches  of  sweet  bayberry, 
yielding  perfume  if  only  one's  garments  swept 
it,  and  rich  "  cushions  of  juniper  "  frosted  over 
with  new  tips,  were  everywhere,  and  acres  were 
carpeted  with  lovely,  soft,  gray-colored  moss, 
into  which  one's  foot  sank  as  into  the  richest 
product  of  the  loom.  Here  and  there  was  a 
close  grove  of  young  pines,  whose  cool,  dim 
depths  were  most  alluring  on  hot  days ;  and  in- 
deed in  every  spot  in  Maine  not  fully  occupied 
nature  is  sure  to  set  a  pine-tree. 

Every  morning,  on  entering  this  garden  of 
delights,  I  hastened  across  an  open  space  by  the 
gate,  and  plunged  into  a  thicket  of  alders  sprin- 
kled with  young  trees,  —  birch,  elm,  and  wild 
cherry.  Through  this  ran  a  path,  and  in  a 
sheltered  nook  under  a  low  pine  I  found  a  seat, 
where  for  many  days  I  spent  the  forenoon, 
making  acquaintance  with  the  pretty  little  yel- 
low-throats. 

From  the  first  the  head  of  the  family  adopted 
me  as  his  particular  charge,  and  I  am  positive 
he  never  lost  sight  of  me  for  one  minute.  His 


BEWITCHING    WAYS.  145 

was  a  charming  surveillance.  He  did  not,  like 
the  robin  on  similar  duty,  stand  on  some  con- 
spicuous perch  like  a  statue  of  horror  or  dismay, 
uttering  his  loudest  "  peep  !  peep  !  "  in  warning 
to  the  whole  feathered  world ;  nor  did  he,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  song  sparrow,  fill  the  air 
with  distressed  "pips"  that  seemed  to  hint  of 
mischief  dire ;  neither  did  he,  as  does  the  red 
squirrel,  resent  an  intrusion  into  preserves  that 
he  considered  his  own,  with  a  maddening  series 
of  choking  cries,  coughs,  and  "snickers,"  till 
one  was  almost  ready  to  turn  a  gun  upon  him  ; 
still  less  did  he,  in  veery  style,  utter  wails  so 
despairing  that  one  felt  herself  a  monster  for 
remaining.  The  yellow- throat's  guardianship 
was  a  pleasure.  He  remained  in  sight,  not 
fifteen  feet  away  from  me,  and  did  not  flinch 
from  the  terrible  field-glass.  Sometimes  he 
stood  quite  still,  uttering  his  soft  and  inoffen- 
sive "  chic  ;  "  again  he  scrambled  about  in  the 
bushes,  collected  a  mouthful,  and  disappeared 
for  a  moment,  —  a  constant  baby  call  from  the 
bushes  reminding  him  of  his  duty  as  provider. 
Evidently  he  had  succeeded  in  impressing  upon 
that  obstinate  offspring  of  his  that  he  must  keep 
out  of  sight.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  bugaboo 
he  made  me  out  to  be  ? 

Much  of  the  time  the  tiny  custodian  passed 
away  in  calling  and  singing,  throwing  his  head 


146  YOUNG   AMERICA    IN  FEATHERS. 

up  or  holding  it  still  according  as  he  sang  loud 
or  low.  To  all  varieties  of  his  pretty  little 
melody  he  treated  me.  Never  once  did  he  utter 
the  notes  given  in  the  books  as  the  family  song. 
From  his  beak  I  never  heard  either  "  wichita," 
"  witches  here,"  "  o-wee-chee,"  or  "  I  beseech 
you,"  all  of  which,  excepting  the  last,  I  have 
heard  at  different  times  from  other  members  of 
the  family ;  which,  by  the  way,  confirms  my  oft- 
repeated  assertion  that  no  two  birds  of  a  species 
sing  alike.  His  ordinary  notes  resembled  "pe- 
o-we,"  delivered  in  lively  manner,  with  strong 
accent  on  the  first  syllable.  Sometimes  he  gave 
them  the  regulation  three  times  ;  again,  he  added 
a  fourth  repetition,  and  changed  this  by  end- 
ing on  the  first  syllable  of  the  fifth  utterance. 
On  one  occasion  he  surprised  and  delighted  me 
by  turning  from  the  third  "  pe-o-we "  into  a 
continuous  little  carol,  varied  and  bewitching. 
Later  in  the  season,  after  I  had  finished  my 
studies  in  the  alder  bushes,  I  heard  several  times 
from  a  yellow-throat  in  the  pasture  a  similar 
continuous  song,  usually  delivered  on  the  wing. 
After  some  days  my  little  watcher  became  so 
accustomed  to  my  silent  presence  under  the  pine 
that  he  did  not  mind  me  in  the  least,  though  he 
never  forgot  me,  and  if  I  stirred  he  was  on  the 
alert  in  an  instant.  So  long  as  I  was  motion- 
less he  ignored  me  entirely,  and  conducted  him- 


A    QUEER  SUN-BATH.  147 

self  as  if  he  were  alone ;  often  taking  a  sunning 
by  crouching  on  the  top  twig  of  a  bush,  spread- 
ing wings  and  tail  and  fluffing  out  his  plumage 
till  he  looked  like  a  ragged  bunch  of  feathers. 
It  was  very  droll  to  see  him,  while  in  this  atti- 
tude, suddenly  pull  himself  together,  stand  up- 
right, utter  his  song,  and  instantly  relapse  into 
the  spread-eagle  position  to  go  on  with  his  sun- 
bath.  To  my  surprise,  I  found  that  this  war- 
bler, whose  song  and  movements  always  seem  to 
indicate  a  constant  flitting  and  scrambling  about 
in  warbler  fashion,  is  capable  of  repose.  He 
frequently  stood  perfectly  still,  the  black  patch 
which  covers  his  eyes  like  an  old-fashioned  face- 
mask  turned  toward  me,  singing  his  little  aria 
with  as  much  composure  as  ever  thrush  sang  his. 

My  pleasing  acquaintance  with  the  yellow- 
throat  ended  as  soon  as  the  young  became  ex- 
pert on  the  wing  and  could  leave  their  native 
alder  patch.  After  that  the  nook  was  deserted, 
and  unless  I  heard  the  song  I  could  not  distin- 
guish my  little  friend  among  the  dozens  of  his 
species  who  lived  in  the  neighborhood. 

Toward  the  north  end  of  my  delectable  hunt- 
ing-ground was  a  second  favorite  spot,  especially 
attractive  on  warm,  sunny  mornings.  When  I 
turned  my  steps  that  way,  I  came  first  upon  the 
feeding-ground  of  another  party  of  Young  Amer- 
icans, —  thrashers.  They  were  a  family  group, 


148          YOUNG   AMERICA   IN  FEATHERS. 

a  pair  with  their  two  full-grown  but  still  baby- 
ish young.  Approaching  cautiously,  I  usually 
found  the  parents  on  the  ground  busily  hunting 
insects,  and  the  youngsters  following  closely, 
ready  to  receive  every  morsel  discovered.  They 
were,  however,  very  well  bred,  with  none  of  the 
vulgar  manners  of  those  who  scream  and  shout 
and  demand  their  rations.  Later  in  the  day  I 
often  found  the  thrasher  singing,  a  little  beyond 
the  alders,  on  the  breezy  heights  of  Raspberry 
Hill.  His  chosen  place  was  an  almost  leafless 
birch -tree,  a  favorite  perch  with  all  the  birds  of 
the  pasture,  and  there  he  sang  for  hours. 

"  'T  was  a  song  that  rippled  and  reveled  and  ran 
Ever  back  to  the  note  whence  it  began, 
Rising  and  falling,  and  never  did  stay, 
Like  a  fountain  that  feeds  on  itself  all  day." 

Sometimes  the  singing  was  interrupted,  for  those 
canny  Young  Americans  knew  their  father's 
song,  and  though  he  had  doubtless  stolen  away 
and  left  them  foraging  on  the  grass  by  the  path, 
they  heard  his  voice  and  came  after.  While 
he  was  pouring  out  his  soul  in  ecstasy,  and  I 
was  listening  with  equal  joy,  those  youngsters 
came  by  easy  stages  nearer  and  nearer,  till  one 
after  the  other  alighted  on  the  lower  part  of  the 
birch,  and,  hopping  upward  from  branch  to 
branch,  suddenly  presented  themselves  before 
him,  begging  in  pretty  baby  fashion  for  some- 


OUT  ALONE.  149 

thing  to  eat.  The  singer,  embarrassed  by  their 
demands,  would  sometimes  dive  into  the  nearest 
bushes,  followed  instantly  by  the  persistent  beg- 
gars, and  in  a  moment  fly  off,  the  infants  still 
in  his  wake.  But  he  always  managed  in  some 
way  to  elude  them.  Perhaps  he  fed  them  or 
conducted  them  back  to  their  mother,  for  in  a 
few  minutes  he  appeared  again  on  the  birch  and 
resumed  his  music. 

On  one  occasion  I  met  one  of  these  spruce 
young  thrushes,  evidently  out  on  his  travels 
alone  for  the  first  time.  He  was  in  a  state 
of  great  excitement,  —  jerked  himself  about, 
"  huffed  "  at  me,  then  flew  with  some  difficulty 
into  a  tree,  where  he  stood  and  watched  me  in  a 
charmingly  naive  and  childlike  manner,  utterly 
forgetting  that  part  of  his  education  which  bade 
him  beware  of  a  human  being. 

After  passing  the  home  of  the  thrashers,  on 
my  usual  morning  walk  toward  the  north,  my 
next  temptation  to  linger  came  from  a  fern-lined 
path  to  the  spring,  abode  of  other  Young  Amer- 
icans. The  path  itself  was  extremely  seductive, 
narrow,  zigzagging  through  a  small  forest  of  the 
greenest  and  freshest  of  ferns,  so  luxuriant  that 
they  were  brushed  aside  in  passing,  and  closed 
behind  as  if  to  conceal  one's  footsteps.  Shrubs 
and  trees  met  overhead  ;  here  and  there  a  bloom- 
ing dogbane  or  an  elder,  "  foamed  o'er  with 


150  YOUNG  AMERICA   IN  FEATHERS. 

blossoms   white   as  snow,"  and  tall  wild  roses 
wherever  they  could  find  space  to  grow. 

Nearly  down  to  the  spring,  I  seated  myself 
under  the  bushes  and  waited.  At  first,  until  the 
bustle  of  my  coming  was  hushed,  all  was  silent ; 
but  soon  bird  notes  began,  —  soft  little  "  pips  " 
and  "  chur-r-r's,"  and  other  sounds  I  could  not 
trace  to  their  authors,  but  plainly  expressing 
disapproval  of  a  spy  among  them.  Catbirds 
complained  with  a  soft  liquid  "  chuck  "  or  their 
more  decided  "  mew ;  "  kingbirds  peeped  out  to 
see  what  was  the  excitement,  and  then  settled 
in  the  bushes  in  plain  sight,  at  leisure  now  since 
their  decorous  little  folk  were  educated  and 
taking  care  of  themselves ;  and  other  birds 
came  whispering  about  behind  my  back,  while 
I  dared  not  turn  to  see,  lest  I  send  everybody 
off  in  a  panic.  An  oriole, 

"  Like  an  orange  tulip  flaked  with  black," 
dropped  in  as  he  passed,  but  left  in  haste,  as  if 
averse  to  company,  with  his  customary  shyness 
while  training  the  young  ;  for  this  brilliant  bird, 
during  nesting  so  fearless  everywhere,  manages 
to  disappear  completely  after  the  young  leave 
the  nest.  Now  and  then  he  may  be  seen  going 
about  near  the  ground,  silent,  and  absorbed  in 
his  arduous  task  of  teaching  those  clamorous 
urchins  to  get  their  own  living  ;  or  in  the  early 
morning,  engaged  in  picking  open  the  hideous 


I  I  I  I.iNi.    THE    BABY  — THE    BALTIMORE   URIOLE 


EXCITEMENT  AMONG    THE    ORIOLES.      151 

nests  of  the  tent-caterpillars  and  quietly  taking 
his  breakfast  therefrom.  Later,  when  bantlings 
are  off  his  mind,  he  reappears  in  his  favorite 
haunts,  and  sings  a  little  before  bidding  us 
adieu  for  the  season  ;  although  occasionally  this 
supplementary  song  is  a  dismal  failure,  and  the 
oriole  discovers,  as  have  other  singers  before 
him,  that  one  cannot  neglect  his  music,  even  for 
the  best  of  reasons,  and  take  it  up  again  where 
he  left  off. 

As  I  passed  under  an  apple-tree,  one  morn- 
ing, on  my  way  to  the  ferny  path,  I  heard  the 
domestic  cry  of  the  oriole,  uttered,  I  think,  only 
when  rearing  the  young,  a  tender  "  yeap."  I 
paused  instantly,  and  soon  heard  a  very  low 
baby  cry,  a  soft  "  chur-r-r  "  exactly  like  the  first 
note  of  the  young  oriole  when  he  comes  up  to 
the  edge  of  the  nest,  only  subdued  almost  to  a 
whisper,  showing  that  education  had  progressed, 
and  this  little  one  had  learned  to  control  his 
infantile  eagerness.  All  at  once  there  arose  a 
great  commotion  over  my  head;  an  oriole  fled 
precipitately  to  another  tree  and  stood  there 
watching  me,  scolding  his  harshest,  flirting  his 
wings  and  jerking  his  body  in  great  excitement. 
In  a  moment  his  mate  joined  him,  and  both  be- 
gan to  call,  though  she  held  a  worm  in  her  beak. 
This  not  seeming  to  effect  their  purpose,  the 
singer  suddenly  uttered  a  loud,  clear  whistle  of 


152  YOUNG   AMERICA   IN  FEATHERS. 

two  notes,  startlingly  like  a  man's  whistle  to  a 
dog,  when  instantly  a  young  oriole  flew  out  of 
the  apple-tree  and  joined  his  parents.  Then  the 
low  note  began  again,  and  the  family  departed. 
The  infant  who  receives  such  devoted  care  is 
a  pretty  little  creature  in  dull  yellow,  and  the 
most  persistent  cry-baby  I  know  in  the  bird- 
world,  though  several  are  not  far  behind  him  in 
this  accomplishment.  His  plaint  begins  when 
he  mounts  the  edge  of  the  nest  preparatory  to 
his  debut,  and  ceases  hardly  a  minute  for  days, 
a  long-drawn  shuddering  wail,  that  suggests  no- 
thing less  than  great  suffering,  starvation,  or 
some  other  affliction  hard  to  be  borne.  What 
makes  the  case  still  worse,  the  nursery  is  high, 
and  each  nestling  chooses  for  himself  the  direc- 
tion in  which  he  will  depart.  East  and  west, 
north  and  south,  they  scatter  ;  and  where  one 
lands,  there  he  will  stay  for  hours,  if  not  days, 
drawn  down  into  a  little  heap,  looking  lonely 
and  miserable,  and  apparently  impressed  with 
the  sole  idea  that  he  must  keep  himself  before 
the  world  by  his  voice,  or  he  will  be  lost  and 
forgotten.  It  is  no  wonder  that,  between  the 
labor  of  collecting  food  and  following  up  the 
family  to  administer  it,  the  mother  becomes 
faded  and  draggled,  and  the  father  abandons 
his  music,  and  goes  about  near  the  ground, 
grubbing  like  any  ditch-digger. 


HE    CLIMBED    THE    TREE.  153 

The  young  oriole,  however,  does  not  lack  in- 
telligence. A  correspondent  tells  me  of  one 
who,  starting  out  too  ambitiously  in  his  first 
flight,  landed  on  the  ground  instead  of  on  the 
tree  he  had  selected,  and,  looking  about  for  a 
place  of  safety,  saw  a  single  leaf  growing  a  few 
feet  up  on  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  That  so  inex- 
perienced an  infant  should  notice  it  was  sur- 
prising, but  that  he  should  at  once  start  for  it 
showed  remarkable  "  mother  wit."  To  reach 
this  haven  of  refuge,  he  ascended  the  tree-trunk 
a  few  inches,  half  flying  and  half  climbing, 
clinging  with  his  claws  to  the  bark  to  rest,  then 
scrambling  upward  a  few  inches  farther,  and  so 
on  till  he  reached  the  leaf,  when  he  perched  on 
its  tiny  stem,  and  remained  there  as  long  as  he 
was  watched. 

But  to  return  to  my  place  among  the  ferns. 
When  I  had  been  there  some  time,  silent  and 
motionless,  a  catbird  at  my  back,  too  happy  to 
be  long  still,  would  take  courage  and  charm  me 
with  his  wonderful  whisper  song,  an  ecstatic 
performance  which  should  disarm  the  most  pre- 
judiced of  his  detractors.  Occasionally,  his 
mate,  as  I  supposed,  uttered  warning  cries,  and 
in  deference  to  her  feelings,  as  it  appeared,  his 
notes  dropped  lower  and  lower,  till  I  could 
scarcely  hear  them,  though  he  was  not  ten  feet 
away.  The  song  of  the  catbird  is  rarely  appre- 


154  YOUNG   AMERICA   IN  FEATHERS. 

ciated;  probably  because  he  seldom  gives  a 
"  stage  performance,"  but  sings  as  he  goes  about 
his  work.  In  any  momentary  pause  a  few  liquid 
notes  bubble  out ;  on  his  way  for  food,  a  con- 
venient fence  post  is  a  temptation  to  stop  a 
moment  and  utter  a  snatch  of  song.  His  man- 
ner is  of  itself  a  charm,  but  there  is  really  a 
wonderful  variety  in  his  strains.  He  has  not 
perhaps  so  fine  an  organ  as  his  more  celebrated 
relative,  the  thrasher ;  he  cannot,  or  at  least  he 
does  not,  usually  produce  so  clear  and  ringing  a 
tone.  Nor  is  his  method  the  same ;  he  does  not 
so  often  repeat  himself,  but  varies  as  he  sings, 
so  that  his  aria  is  full  of  surprises  and  un- 
expected turns.  Doubtless,  persons  expert  at 
finding  imitations  of  other  birds'  notes  would  dis- 
cover some  in  his.  But  I  am  a  little  skeptical 
on  the  subject  of  conscious  "  mocking."  When 
the  catbird  sings  I  hear  only  the  catbird,  and 
in  the  same  way  I  take  pleasure  in  the  song  of 
thrasher  or  mockingbird,  nor  care  whether  any 
other  may  have  hit  upon  his  exact  combinations. 
After  the  catbird,  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  soft,  indescribable  utterances  that  are  at 
the  same  time  the  delight  and  the  despair  of  the 
bird-student.  Some  birds,  upon  entering  this 
solitary  retreat,  announced  themselves  by  a  sin- 
gle note,  or  call,  as  effectually  as  if  they  had 
sent  in  a  card,  while  others  stole  in,  took  quick 


ANXIOUS   DAYS   IN  CROW  LAND.  155 

and  close  observation,  and  departed  as  quietly 
as  they  had  come,  unseen  and  unheard  by  clumsy 
human  senses.  Often,  indeed,  have  I  wished  for 
eyes  to  look  behind  me,  where  it  sometimes  seems 
that  everything  most  interesting  takes  place. 

This  secluded  corner  of  the  pasture  proved  to 
be  a  very  popular  nursery  with  the  feathered 
world.  Catbirds  came  about  bearing  food,  and 
all  sorts  of  catbird  talk  went  on  within  hearing : 
the  soft  liquid  "  chuck  "  and  "  mew  "  (so  called, 
though  it  is  more  like  "  ma-a  ")  in  all  tones  and 
inflections,  complaining,  admonishing,  warning, 
and  caressing.  There  was  evidently  a  whole 
family  among  the  bushes.  A  vireo  baby,  plainly 
just  out  of  the  cradle,  stared  at  me,  and  ad- 
dressed me  with  a  sort  of  husky  squawk,  an 
indescribable  sound,  which,  until  I  became  fa- 
miliar with  it,  brought  me  out  in  hot  haste  to 
see  what  terrible  tragedy  was  going  on.  For 
it  is  really  a  distressful  cry,  although  it  often 
proclaims  nothing  more  serious  than  that  the 
young  vireo  wants  his  dinner ;  as  some  infants 
of  the  human  family  scream  at  the  top  of  their 
voices  under  similar  circumstances. 

Beyond  the  close-growing  bushes  I  heard  the 
crow  baby's  quavering  cry ;  and  these  seemed 
indeed  anxious  days  in  crowland.  All  the  little 
folk  were  crying  at  once,  in  their  loudest  and 
most  urgent  tones,  enough  to  distract  the  hard- 


156  YOUNG   AMERICA   IN  FEATHERS. 

working  parents  who  hurried  back  and  forth 
overhead,  at  their  best  speed,  trying  to  stop  the 
mouths  of  their  ill-bred  brood.  On  one  occa- 
sion I  saw  an  old  crow  flying  over,  calling  in 
a  decided,  "  stern  parent "  style,  followed  by  a 
youngster  not  yet  expert  on  the  wing,  who  an- 
swered with  his  droll  baby  "ma-a-a"  in  a  much 
higher  key.  She  was  conducting  him  over  the 
pasture  to  the  salt  marsh,  where  much  crow-baby 
food  came  from  in  those  days,  and  he  was  doing 
his  best  to  keep  up  with  her  stronger  flight. 
Sometimes  another  sound  from  the  nursery  came 
to  my  ears,  —  the  caw  of  an  adult,  drawn  out 
into  a  long,  earnest  "  aw-w-w,"  like  admonishing 
or  instructing  the  now  silent  olive  branches.  It 
was  many  times  repeated,  and  occasionally  inter- 
rupted by  a  baby  voice,  showing  that  the  little 
ones  were  not  asleep.  I  suspect,  from  what  I 
have  seen  of  crow  ways,  that  the  sable  mamma 
is  a  strict  disciplinarian  who  will  tolerate  no 
liberties  and  no  delinquencies  on  the  part  of  her 
dusky  brood,  and  although  this  particular  Young 
American  may  complain,  he  dare  not  rebel. 
Poor  crowling!  he  needs  perhaps  a  Spartan 
training  to  fit  him  for  his  hard  life  in  the  world. 
With  every  man's  hand  against  him,  and  danger 
lurking  on  all  sides,  he  must  be  wary  and  sharp 
and  have  all  his  wits  about  him  to  live. 

When  I  could  tear  myself  away  from  this 


THE   HEAVENLY  SONG.  157 

domestic  corner  of  the  pasture,  I  passed  on  to 
the  riverside  nook  I  have  mentioned.  Here  my 
seat  was  on  the  edge  of  the  bank,  high  above  the 
stream,  shaded  by  a  group  of  black  and  battered 
old  spruces  that  looked  as  if  they  had  faced  the 
storms  of  a  hundred  stern  Maine  winters,  as 
probably  they  had.  Pine-trees  at  my  back  filled 
the  air  with  odors ;  a  thicket  beloved  of  small 
birds  stretched  away  at  one  side.  Across  the 
river  spread  a  sunny  knoll,  on  which  stood  a 
huge  old  apple-tree,  contemporary  perhaps  with 
the  spruces,  having  one  attractive  dead  branch, 
and  surrounded  at  a  little  distance  with  a  semi- 
circle of  shrubs  and  low  trees.  It  was  a  tempt- 
ing theatre  for  bird  dramas,  which  the  solitary 
student,  half  hidden  on  the  bank  above,  could 
overlook  and  bring  to  clear  vision  with  a  glass, 
while  not  herself  conspicuous  enough  to  startle 
the  actors.  In  this  lovely  spot  many  mornings 
of  that  happy  July  passed  delightfully  away. 

In  the  leafy  background  to  the  apple-tree 
dwelt  the  veery.  From  its  apparently  impene- 
trable depths  came  his  warning  calls,  and  on 
rare  and  blessed  occasions  his  heavenly  song ; 
for  it  was  July,  and  it  is  only  in  June  that 

"  New  England  woods  at  close  of  day, 
With  that  dear  chant  are  ringing." 

For,  with  all  the  rhapsody  in  his  soul,  this 
thrush  is  a  devoted  parent,  and  notwithstanding 


158  YOUNG   AMERICA   IN  FEATHERS. 

the  fact  that  he  is  one  of  the  kings  of  song,  he 
comes  down  like  the  humblest  sparrow  of  the 
fields,  to  help  feed  and  train  his  lovely  tawny 
brood.  Without  exception  that  I  know,  he  is 
the  most  utterly  heartbroken  of  birds  when  the 
nest  is  discovered.  So  pathetic  are  the  wails  of 
both  parents  that  I  never  could  bear  to  study  a 
nest,  and  I  had  to  harden  my  heart  against  the 
bleating,  despairing  cries  of  the  mother  before 
I  could  secure  even  a  look  at  a  youngster  just 
out  of  the  nest.  This  scion  of  the  charming- 
thrush  family  is  a  patient  little  soul,  with  all  the 
dignity  and  reserve  as  well  as  the  gentleness  of 
his  race ;  no  human  child  could  be  more  winning. 

A  beautiful  instance  might  be  seen  in  that 
spot  of  Nature's  provident  way  of  looking  out 
for  the  future.  Those  battered  old  spruces  had 
a  flourishing  colony  of  young  trees  growing  up 
all  around  and  under  the  shade  of  their  wings, 
and  some  day  when  a  great  wind  breaks  off  the 
decayed  old  ones,  there  will  be  several  vigorous 
half-grown  young,  to  take  their  place,  so  the 
place  will  not  be  left  desolate  a  day.  If  man 
would  only  take  this  hint  in  his  own  treatment 
of  trees,  leave  the  young  ones  to  take  the  place 
of  those  he  removes,  we  should  not  have  to 
dread  the  wasteful  destruction  of  our  forests. 

In  this  corner,  one  morning,  I  saw  a  catbird 
gathering  blueberries  for  dinner.  She  came 


A    CATBIRD   BLUEBERRY  ING.  159 

down  on  a  fence  post  as  light  as  a  feather, 
looked  over  to  where  I  sat  motionless  under  my 
tree,  hesitated,  flirted  her  tail  expressively  as 
who  should  say,  "  Can  I  trust  her  ? "  then 
glanced  down  to  the  berry-loaded  bushes  on  the 
ground,  and  turned  again  her  soft  dark  eyes  on 
me.  I  hardly  breathed,  and  she  flew  lightly  to 
the  first  wire  of  the  fence,  paused,  then  to  the 
second,  still  keeping  an  eye  my  way.  At  that 
point  she  bent  an  earnest  gaze  on  the  blueberry 
patch,  turning  this  way  and  that,  and  I  believe 
selecting  the  very  berry  she  desired  ;  for  she 
suddenly  dropped  like  a  shot,  seized  the  berry, 
and  was  back  on  the  post,  as  if  the  ground  were 
hot.  There  she  rested  long  enough  for  me  to 
see  what  she  held  in  her  beak,  and  then  disap- 
peared in  the  silent  way  she  had  come.  In  a 
moment  she  returned  ;  for  it  was  not  for  herself 
she  was  berrying,  but  for  some  speckled-breasted 
beauty  shyly  hiding  in  the  alder  thicket  below. 

As  the  babies'  month  drew  near  its  close,  and 
August  stood  threateningly  on  the  threshold, 
sometimes  I  heard  young  folk  at  their  lessons. 
Most  charming  was  a  scion  of  the  chewink  family 
learning  to  ring  his  silver  bell.  I  could  not  see 
him,  —  he  was  hidden  behind  the  leafy  screen 
across  the  river ;  but  happily  sounds  are  not  so 
easily  concealed  as  sights,  and  the  little  perform- 
ance explained  itself  as  clearly  as  if  I  had  had 


160          YOUNG   AMERICA   IN  FEATHERS. 

the  added  testimony  of  my  eyes  (though  I 
longed  to  see  it,  too).  The  instructor  was  a 
superior  singer,  such  as  I  have  heard  but  few 
times,  and  the  song  at  its  best  is  one  of  our 
most  choice,  consisting  of  two  short  notes  fol- 
lowed by  a  tremolo  perhaps  an  octave  higher,  in 
a  loud  clear  ring  like  a  silver-toned  bell. 

"  Was  never  voice  of  ours  could  say 
Our  inmost  in  the  sweetest  way 
Like  yonder  voice." 

For  several  minutes  this  rich  and  inspiring  song 
rang  out  from  the  bushes,  to  my  great  delight, 
when  suddenly  it  ceased,  and  a  weak  voice 
piped  up.  It  was  neither  so  loud  nor  so  clear  ; 
the  introductory  notes  were  given  with  uncer- 
tainty and  hesitation,  and  the  tremolo  was  a 
slow  and  very  poor  imitation.  Still,  it  was 
plain  that  the  towhee  baby  was  practicing  for 
his  entrance  into  the  ranks  of  our  most  bewitch- 
ing singers.  The  next  day,  a  chewink,  I  think 
the  same  whose  music  and  whose  teaching  I  had 
admired,  honored  me  with  a  song  and  a  sight 
together.  He  was  as  spruce  as  if  he  had  just 
donned  a  new  suit,  his  black  hood  like  velvet, 
his  chestnut  of  the  richest,  and  his  white  of  the 
whitest,  and  he  sang  from  the  top  of  a  small 
pine-tree  ;  sometimes,  in  the  restless  way  of  his 
family,  scrambling  over  the  branches,  and  again 
shifting  his  position  to  a  small  birch-tree. 


INDIVIDUALITY   OF  FLOWERS.  161 

Many  other  songs  and  singers  I  enjoyed  in 
those  pleasant  mornings  beside  the  river,  till 
the  hour  for  what  Thoreau  designates  as  "  that 
whirlpool  called  a  dinner  "  drew  near,  and  then, 
unmindful  of  the  philosopher's  advice,  I  started 
slowly  homeward,  collecting  as  I  went,  nfaterials 
to  fill  the  vases  in  my  room. 

In  gathering  flowers,  one  needs  to  select  with 
discretion,  for  they,  no  less  than  their  winged 
neighbors  in  the  pasture,  have  an  individuality 
of  their  own.  The  wild  rose,  for  example,  is 
most  amiable  in  lending  itself  to  our  enjoyment. 
Not  only  does  it  submit  to  being  torn  from  the 
parental  stem,  but  it  will  flourish  perfectly,  and 
go  on  opening  bud  after  bud,  so  long  as  it  has 
one  to  open,  as  lovely  and  as  fragrant  as  its  sis- 
ters on  the  bush.  One  needs  only  to  snip  off 
the  heads  whose  petals  have  dropped,  to  have  a 
fresh  and  beautiful  bowl  of  roses  every  morning. 
The  daisy  too  adorns  our  tables  and  our  vases 
cheerfully,  and  as  long  as  if  it  still  stood  among 
the  grasses,  its  feet  planted  in  mother  earth ; 
and  even  when  it  has  lived  out  its  allotted  time, 
it  neither  withers  nor  droops,  but  begins  to  look 
wild,  its  petals  losing  their  trim  regularity  and 
standing  every  way. 

Different  indeed  is  the  disposition  of  the 
goldenrod,  which,  though  remaining  fresh  and 
bright,  when  called  upon  to  decorate  our  homes, 


162  YOUNG   AMERICA   IN  FEATHERS. 

obstinately  refuses  to  open  a  petal  after  it  is 
gathered ;  and  the  fairy-like  elder,  which  sul- 
lenly resents  being  touched,  gives  up  the  strug- 
gle for  existence  and  droops  at  once ;  and  the 
cactus,  which  promptly  draws  its  satin  petals 
together,  and  stubbornly  declines  to  open  again. 
The  loveliest  bouquet  of  late  July  on  the  coast 
of  Maine  is  this,  which  I  give  for  the  pleasure 
of  other  flower-lovers,  if  haply  there  be  any  who 
have  not  discovered  it.  Put  in  a  vase  a  few 
stalks  of  completely  opened  goldenrod,  of  the 
variety  that  divides  into  long,  finger-like  stems. 
Let  there  be  just  enough  so  that  when  each 
blossom  is  spread  out  full  they  shall  barely 
cover  the  space.  Have  the  stems  of  equal 
length,  so  that  the  effect  shall  be  flat,  and  not 
conical.  Into  this,  between  the  blossoms,  care- 
fully stick  the  stems  of  a  few  fully  spread  lace 
flowers  (or  wild  carrot),  with  stems  two  or  three 
inches  longer  than  you  have  allowed  the  golden- 
rod  stems.  Each  must  have  full  space  to  dis- 
play every  tiny  floweret,  and  not  to  hide  the 
golden  glory  beneath.  When  prepared,  set  the 
vase  or  bowl  on  the  floor,  before  a  grate  or  to 
light  up  some  gloomy  corner.  Properly  done 
the  effect  is  a  marvel  and  a  joy  forever,  like 
lace  over  sunshine,  like  some  fairy  creation  too 
dainty  for  words  to  picture. 


IX. 

DOWN  THE   MEADOW. 

THE  bird-baby  world  was  not  bounded  by 
any  pasture,  however  enchanting,  and  I  have 
not  told  all  the  charms  of  this  one.  The  house 
where  I  found  bed  and  board,  in  the  intervals 
of  bird  study,  —  once  a  farmhouse,  now  an  "  inn 
of  rest  "  for  a  country-loving  family,  —  was  hap- 
pily possessed  of  two  attractions :  the  pasture 
toward  which  I  turned  with  the  morning  sun, 
and  a  meadow  which  drew  me  when  shadows 
grew  long  in  the  afternoon.  This  meadow  be- 
gan at  the  road  passing  in  front  of  the  house, 
and  extended  to  the  salt  marsh  which  separated 
us  from  the  sea.  The  marsh  was  always  a 
beautiful  picture, 

"  Stretching  off  in  a  pleasaut  plain 
To  the  terminal  blue  of  the  main." 

It  was  never  twice  the  same,  for  it  changed 
with  every  passing  cloud,  with  every  phase  of 
the  weather,  with  every  tide  ;  one  never  tired 
of  it.  And  it  was  full  of  winged  life  :  not  only 
the  beautiful  gulls, 

"  Whose  twinkling  wings  half  lost  amid  the  blue," 


164  DOWN   THE   MEADOW. 

in  a  white  cloud  over  the  far-off  beach,  but 
small  birds  of  several  kinds,  who  never  came 
near  enough  to  dry  land  to  be  identified.  Sharp- 
tailed  sparrows  appeared  on  the  meadow  after 
grass  was  cut,  and  their  exquisite  ringing  trill 
could  always  be  heard  from  the  bank  ;  crows 
fed  upon  it  every  day  ;  blackbirds'  wings  were 
always  over  it ;  and  above  all,  sandpipers  were 
there, 

"  Calling  clear  and  sweet  from  cove  to  cove." 
One  afternoon,  starting  down  the  meadow  on 
my  usual  visit  to  the  sandpiper  little  folk,  I 
heard  a  low  cry  of  "  flick-er  !  flick-er  !  "  and 
there  on  the  grass  before  me  were  two  of  the 
birds  face  to  face.  One  was  an  adult,  but  the 
other  was  a  nearly  grown  young  one,  and  I  saw 
in  an  instant  that  I  had  unwittingly  intruded 
upon  the  breakfast  he  was  about  to  receive.  In 
the  goldenwing  family  —  as  perhaps  not  every 
one  knows  —  a  repast  is  not  over  with  one  poke 
into  an  open  bill ;  it  is  a  far  more  serious  affair 
indeed.  The  young  bird  opens  his  mouth  a 
little,  the  parent  thrusts  his  —  or  her  —  beak 
down  the  waiting  throat,  until  one  would  think 
the  infant  must  be  choked,  and  then  the  elder 
delivers  little  pokes,  as  he  crams  down  the 
mouthfuls,  six,  eight,  even  ten  I  have  counted 
before  he  stops.  Then  the  heads  draw  apart, 
and  the  grown-up  —  who  has  plainly  come  well 


TAKING    BREAKFAST — THE   GOLIJEX-WINGEU    WOODPECKER 


TAKING   HIMSELF   TOO  SERIOUSLY.       165 

provided  —makes  a  sort  of  spasmodic  movement 
in  his  own  throat,  probably  raising  from  some 
internal  reservoir  another  portion  of  food,  the 
infant  opens  his  beak  again,  and  the  operation 
is  repeated. 

Of  course  my  presence  interfered  with  this 
elaborate,  several-course  breakfast,  and  the  el- 
der of  the  two  fell  to  reproaching  me  by  loud 
calls  and  vehement  bows  in  my  direction.  See- 
ing that  I  was  not  sufficiently  impressed,  and 
did  not  depart,  he  resorted  to  stronger  meas- 
ures;  he  swayed  his  head  from  side  to  side, 
stretching  out  his  neck  like  an  enraged  goose, 
and  presenting  a  most  droll  appearance. 

At  first  the  youngster  seemed  to  be  paralyzed, 
but  suddenly  —  perhaps  realizing  what  harm 
my  inopportune  appearance  had  done  —  he  also 
began  to  bow  and  sway,  exactly  as  papa  was 
doing.  Anything  more  ludicrous  than  those 
two  birds  standing  face  to  face  and  performing 
such  antics  it  is  hard  to  imagine  ;  no  one  but  a 
flicker  coidd  be  at  the  same  time  so  serious  and 
so  absurd. 

At  the  edge  of  the  meadow,  where  it  sloped 
sharply  down  to  the  marsh,  lived  one  whose 
days  were  full  of  trouble,  which  he  took  care  to 
make  known  to  the  world,  —  a 

"  Fire-winged  blackbird,  wearing  on  his  shoulders 
Red,  gold-edged  epaulets." 


166  DOWN   THE   MEADOW. 

His  little  family,  not  yet  out  of  the  nest,  was 
settled  safely  enough  behind  a  clump  of  bushes 
that  fringed  the  marsh.  But  he,  in  his  role  of 
protector,  had  taken  possession  of  two  trees  on 
the  high  land,  where  he  could  overlook  the 
whole  neighborhood,  and  see  all  the  dangers, 
real  and  fancied,  that  might,  could,  would,  or 
should  threaten  them,  and  "borrow  trouble" 
to  his  heart's  content.  The  trees,  this  bird's 
headquarters,  were  an  aged  and  half -dead  cherry 
and  a  scraggy  and  wind-battered  elm,  standing 
perhaps  a  hundred  feet  apart.  On  the  top 
twig  of  one  of  these,  or  flying  across  between 
them,  he  was  most  of  the  time  to  be  seen,  and 
his  various  cries  of  distress,  as  well  as  his 
wild,  woodsy  song,  came  plainly  up  to  me  in  my 
window. 

The  troubles  of  this  Martha-like  character 
began  when  mowers  brought  their  clattering 
machine,  and  with  rasping  noise  and  confusion 
dire  laid  low  the  grass  which  had  isolated  him 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  that  impertinent 
world  poured  in.  First  came  crows,  from  their 
homes  in  the  woods  beyond  the  pasture,  to  feast 
on  the  numerous  hoppers  and  crawlers  left  roof- 
less by  the  mowers,  and  to  procure  food  for  their 
hungry  young,  and  alighted  in  the  stubble,  two 
or  three  or  half  a  dozen  at  a  time.  By  this  the 
soul  of  the  redwing  was  fired,  and  with  savage 


THE  REDWING    WAS  FRANTIC.  167 

war-cries  he  descended  upon  them.  His  man- 
ner was  to  fly  laboriously  to  a  great  height,  and 
then  swoop  down  at  a  crow  as  if  to  annihilate 
him.  The  bird  on  the  ground  turned  from  his 
insect  hunt  long  enough  to  snap  at  his  threaten- 
ing enemy,  and  then  returned  to  his  serious 
business.  So  long  as  the  crows  stayed  the  red- 
wing was  frantic,  his  cries  filled  the  air ;  and  as 
they  were  almost  constantly  there,  he  was  kept 
on  the  borders  of  frenzy  most  of  the  time. 

After  the  crows  came  the  bird-students,  with 
opera-glasses  and  spying  ways.  These  also  the 
irascible  redwing  decided  to  be  foes,  flying  about 
their  heads  threateningly,  and  never  ceasing  his 
doleful  cries  so  long  as  they  were  in  sight.  I 
hoped  his  brown-streaked  mate  down  in  the 
marsh  knew  what  a  fussy  and  suspicious  person- 
age she  had  married,  and  would  not  be  made 
anxious  by  his  extravagances ;  but  she  too  dis- 
trusted the  bird  gazers,  adding  her  protests  to 
his,  and  such  an  outpouring  of  "  chacks  "  and 
other  blackbird  maledictions  one  —  happily  — 
is  not  often  called  upon  to  encounter. 

After  the  bird-students  the  haymakers  ;  and 
every  time  a  man  or  a  horse  appeared  in  that 
field,  the  blackbird  was  thrown  into  utter  de- 
spair, and  the  air  rang  with  his  lamentations. 

He  was  evidently  a  character,  a  bird  of  indi- 
viduality, and  I  was  anxious  to  know  him  better ; 


168  DOWN   THE   MEADOW. 

so,  although  I  hated  to  grieve  him,  I  resolved  to 
go  somewhat  nearer,  hoping  that  he  would  ap- 
preciate my  harmlessness  and  soon  see  that  he 
had  nothing  to  fear  from  me.  Not  he  !  Having 
taken  it  into  his  obstinate  little  head  that  all 
who  approached  the  sacred  spot  he  guarded 
were  on  mischief  bent,  he  refused  to  discrimi- 
nate. The  moment  I  approached  the  gate,  the 
whole  width  of  the  meadow  from  him,  he  greeted 
me  with  shouts  and  cries,  and  did  not  cease  for 
an  instant,  though  I  stayed  two  hours  or  more. 
I  always  went  as  modestly  and  inoffensively  as 
possible  through  the  meadow,  far  from  his  two 
trees,  seated  myself  on  the  edge  of  the  slope  at 
some  distance  from  him,  and  remained  quiet. 
But  he  was  never  reconciled.  His  first  act,  as  I 
started  down  the  field,  was  to  fly  out  to  meet 
me,  as  if  to  drive  me  away.  When  he  reached 
me,  he  would  hold  himself  ten  or  fifteen  feet 
above  my  head,  perfectly  motionless  excepting  a 
slight  movement  of  the  wings,  looking  as  if  he 
meditated  an  attack;  and  indeed  I  did  some- 
times fear  that  he  would  treat  me  as  he  did  the 
crows.  As  I  came  nearer,  his  mate  flew  up  out 
of  the  bushes,  and  added  her  demonstrations  to 
his.  Their  movements  in  the  air  were  beautiful. 
One  would  beat  himself  up  quite  high,  and  then 
hover,  or  apparently  rest  at  that  altitude,  as  if 
too  light  to  come  down,  at  last  floating  earth- 


WHAT  DID   IT  ALL    MEAN?  169 

ward,  pausing  now  and  then,  as  if  he  absolutely 
could  not  return  to  our  level. 

Occasionally  ray  presence  caused  a  domestic 
scene  not  easy  to  interpret.  Madam,  no  doubt 
fully  aware  of  the  prying  ways  of  the  human 
family,  sometimes  hesitated  to  return  to  her  little 
ones  in  the  bushes.  She  flew  around  uneasily, 
alighting  here  and  there,  anxious  and  worried, 
but  plainly  afraid  of  exposing  her  precious 
secret.  Then  her  "  lord  and  master  "  took  her 
in  hand,  flying  at  her,  and  following  wherever 
she  fled  before  him,  till  he  almost  overtook  her, 
when  she  dropped  into  the  marsh,  and  with  a 
low,  satisfied  chuckle  he  took  a  wide  circle 
around  and  returned  to  his  tree.  Scolding  all 
the  time,  she  remained  some  minutes  in  the  deep 
grass,  then  flew  up  high,  and  floated  down  to  the 
alder  clump  where  the  nest  was  placed.  Upon 
this,  her  observant  lord,  whose  sharp  eyes  no- 
thing escaped,  instantly  flew  down  again,  dashed 
impetuously  through  the  alders,  and  without 
pausing  returned  to  his  post.  Now  how  should 
one  interpret  that  little  family  interlude  ? 

Later,  when  the  young  were  out  of  the  nest 
and  quite  expert  on  wing,  the  redwing's  relations 
with  them  puzzled  me  also.  I  often  saw  the 
two  who  appeared  to  compose  the  family  flying 
about  with  their  mother,  and  I  knew  they  were 
his  because  he  frequently  joined  the  party.  But 


170  DOWN   THE   MEADOW. 

their  conduct  seemed  unnatural,  and  a  doubt 
stole  over  me  whether  this  bird  —  this  individ- 
ual, I  mean  —  could  be  a  domestic  tyrant.  I 
knew  from  previous  studies  that  the  love-making 
manners  of  the  redwing  are  a  little  on  the 
"  knock-down-and-drag-out "  order  of  some  sav- 
age tribes  of  our  own  species.  To  chase  the 
beloved  until  she  drops  with  fatigue  seems  to  be 
the  blackbird  idea  of  a  tender  attention,  and  pos- 
sibly the  pursuit  of  his  spouse  already  spoken  of 
may  have  been  of  this  sort,  merely  a  loverly  dem- 
onstration. But  with  the  babies  it  was  a  dif- 
ferent thing.  Heretofore  I  had  seen  blackbird 
fathers  devoted  attendants  on  their  young,  work- 
ing as  hard  as  the  mothers  in  seeking  supplies, 
and  following  up  the  wandering  brood  to  ad- 
minister them.  But  this  bird,  I  observed,  was 
avoided  by  the  little  folk.  When  he  showed 
inclination  to  join  the  family  party  on  one  of 
its  excursions,  they  shied  away  from  him,  and  if 
he  came  too  near  they  uttered  a  sort  of  husky 
"  huff,"  like  the  familiar  protest  of  a  cat.  With 
the  same  sound  they  greeted  him  and  moved 
away  when  he  approached  a  bush  where  they 
sat.  Perhaps  this  crustiness  of  demeanor  was 
the  natural  result  of  his  long  weeks  of  anxiety 
and  trouble  as  protector  during  their  helpless 
infancy ;  perhaps  he  was  tired  out  and  exhausted, 
and  it  was  not  irritability,  but  nervous  prostra- 


A   PANIC    ON    THE   MARSH.  171 

tion,  that  made  him  appear  so  unamiable.  In- 
deed, I  do  not  see  how  it  could  be  otherwise, 
after  his  exciting  life.  And  may  that  not  explain 
the  fact  that  when  the  young  are  grown,  the 
singer  shakes  off  all  family  ties  and  joins  a 
flock  of  his  comrades,  while  mother  and  young 
remain  together?  Since  he  insists  on  taking 
his  family  responsibilities  so  hard,  he  cannot  be 
blamed  for  desiring  a  rest  for  part  of  the  year. 

Now  that  the  nest  was  deserted  and  the  young 
were  always  going  about  with  their  mother,  I 
wondered  that  the  head  of  the  family  did  not 
relax  his  vigilance  over  the  meadow  and  abandon 
his  two  watch-towers ;  but  save  that  his  enticing 
song  came  up  to  me  oftener  than  his  cries  of 
distress,  his  habits  were  not  materially  altered. 
One  day,  when  I  thought  his  summer  troubles 
ought  surely  to  be  over,  a  fresh  anxiety  came 
to  him.  Several  women  and  girls,  with  a  dog, 
appeared  on  the  marsh,  which  at  low  tide  was  in 
some  parts  explorable.  The  human  members  of 
the  party  amused  themselves  with  bathing  and 
wading  in  the  now  shallow  stream  ;  but  the  dog 
acted  like  one  gone  mad,  dashing  about  on  those 
peaceful  flats  where  so  many  birds  were  enjoying 
themselves  quietly,  rushing  full  gallop  from  one 
group  to  another,  wading  or  swimming  the  wind- 
ing stream  every  time  he  came  to  it,  and  barking 
at  the  top  of  his  voice  every  instant.  Birds  rose 


172  DOWN    THE    MEADOW. 

before  him  in  flocks,  sandpipers  took  to  their 
wings  in  panic,  swallows  swooped  down  over  him 
in  anxious  clouds,  sharp-tailed  sparrows  and  all 
other  winged  creatures  fled  wildly  before  this 
"  agitator,"  who  seemed  to  have  no  aim  except 
to  disturb,  and  reminded  me  irresistibly  of  his 
human  prototype.  Somewhere  in  that  "  league 
upon  league  of  marsh  grass,"  I  suppose,  were  the 
blackbird's  little  folk;  for  the  watcher  on  the 
bank  was  in  deepest  tribulation,  and  his  outcries 
quickly  brought  me  down  to  see  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

The  Young  Americans  of  the  redwing  family 
are  as  vivacious  and  uneasy  as  might  be  expected 
of  the  scions  of  that  house.  No  sooner  do  they 
get  the  use  of  their  sturdy  legs  than  they  scram- 
ble out  of  the  nest  and  start  upon  their  bustling 
pilgrimage  through  life,  first  climbing  over  the 
bushes  in  their  neighborhood,  and  as  they  learn 
the  use  of  their  wings  becoming  more  venture- 
some, till  at  last,  every  time  a  hard-working 
mother  brings  a  morsel  of  food,  she  has  to  hunt 
up  her  straggling  offspring  before  she  can  dis- 
pose of  it.  Though  eager  for  food  as  most 
youngsters,  they  are  altogether  too  busy  investi- 
gating this  new  and  interesting  world  to  stay 
two  minutes  in  one  place.  So  far  from  waiting, 
like  Mr.  Micawber,  for  something  to  turn  up, 
they  proceed,  the  moment  they  can  use  their 


A    YELLOW-HEADED    MONSTER.  173 

limbs,  to  attack  the  problem  of  delay  for  them- 
selves ;  to  wait  is  not  a  blackbird  possibility. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  such  preternaturally 
sharp  and  wide-awake  Young  Americans  very 
soon  graduate  from  the  nursery. 

The  last  trial  that  came  to  the  blackbird,  and 
the  one,  perhaps,  that  induced  him  finally  to 
abandon  his  watch-towers  and  join  his  friends  on 
the  bank  farther  down,  was  the  appearance  one 
day  in  the  meadow  of  a  new  importation  from 
the  city,  a  boy  marked  out  for  notice  by  a  strik- 
ing yellow-and-black  cap.  The  instant  he  en- 
tered the  inclosure  afar  off,  the  redwing  uttered 
a  shriek  of  hopeless  despair,  as  who  should  say, 
"  What  horrible  yellow-headed  monster  have  we 
here  ?  "  and  as  long  as  he  remained  the  bird 
cried  and  bewailed  his  fate  and  that  of  his 
family,  as  if  murder  and  sudden  death  were  the 
sure  fate  of  them  all.  It  was  the  last  act  in 
the  blackbird  drama  on  the  meadow. 

Between  my  morning  in  the  pasture  and  my 
afternoon  down  the  meadow,  were  two  or  three 
hours  of  rest  beside  my  window,  and  there,  too, 
the  drama  of  life  went  on.  On  one  side  was  an 
orchard  —  an  orchard,  alas  !  without  bluebirds, 
for  it  was  the  summer  following  the  dreadful 
tragedy  in  Florida,  where  thousands  perished  of 
hunger,  and  not  one  of  the  blue-coated  darlings 
was  to  be  seen  where  had  always  been  many. 


174  DOWN   THE   MEADOW. 

Perhaps,  too,  even  more  destructive  than  the 
death  by  hunger  that  year  is  the  death  which  I 
am  assured  is  common  in  all  years  about  Wash- 
ington, and  doubtless  other  places ;  death  at 
the  hands  of  man  —  for  the  table.  Who  could 
eat  a  bluebird !  It  is  bad  enough  to  doom  the 
bobolink  to  the  pot  after  he  has  changed  his 
coat  and  become  a  reedbird,  and  given  some 
reason  for  his  fate  by  his  unfortunate  fondness 
for  rice.  But  what  excuse  can  there  be  for 
bringing  the  "  Darling  of  the  Spring "  to  this 
woeful  end? 

To  the  deserted  orchard  came  but  one  bird, 
a  phosbe,  and  I  believe  his  object  was  to  retire 
from  the  world,  for  he  was  the  most  modest  bird 
of  his  family  that  I  ever  saw.  He  dwelt  in  an 
obscure  corner,  and  never  so  much  as  tried  the 
peak  of  the  barn,  which  was  temptingly  near. 
When  he  called  it  was  almost  in  a  whisper.  I 
saw  no  indications  that  he  had  a  nest  or  a  family, 
and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  was  a  misan- 
thrope and  a  hermit. 

Under  my  window  on  the  other  side  came  a 
vesper  sparrow  family.  Three  youngsters  in 
bright  new  coats,  quite  unlike  the  worn  and 
faded  hues  of  their  parents'  dress.  On  the 
stone  wall,  or  perched  on  a  telegraph  pole,  close 
to  the  solitary  insulator  on  the  summit,  the 
singer  poured  out  his  sweet  little  song,  ending  — 


A    BIRD   BABY  SHOW.  175 

in  his  best  moods  —  in  an  exquisite  trill  that 
resembled  the  silver  bell  of  the  chewink.  The 
family  spent  their  time  in  the  road  or  the 
meadow,  the  mother  working  hard  to  supply  the 
hungry  little  mouths,  which  gave  vent  to  queer 
whining  cries.  One  day  when  it  was  raining 
the  mother  and  one  infant  were  out  on  the  usual 
business,  when  suddenly  they  became  aware  of 
a  chipmunk  about  eighteen  inches  from  them, 
and  at  the  same  instant  he  saw  them.  He  sat 
up  very  erect  to  look  ovet  the  grass,  and,  hold- 
ing his  funny  little  hands  over  his  heart,  stared 
at  the  pair  as  if  he  had  never  seen  birds.  The 
baby  sparrow  flew  a  foot  or  two,  but  the  elder 
ran  toward  him  most  valiantly,  upon  which  the 
brave  chipmunk  took  to  his  heels,  scrambled  up 
the  stone  wall,  and  disappeared. 

Before  the  window,  too,  were  always  the  swal- 
lows, for  the  telegraph  wire  was  a  favorite  perch. 
And  after  the  young  were  out,  there  was  every 
day  a  baby  show,  the  eave  and  tree  swallows 
having  adopted  the  wires  as  their  out-of-door 
nursery.  Nearly  all  the  time  might  be  seen 
half  a  dozen  or  more  waiting  patiently  for  a 
morsel  from  some  of  their  elders  circling  about 
over  their  heads,  and  such  a  chatter  as  they 
kept  up !  They  whispered  softly  among  them- 
selves when  their  parents  were  away,  and  called 
in  squeaky  little  voices  with  fluttering  wings  as 


176    '  DOWN   THE   MEADOW. 

one  of  the  elders  approached.  Whether  the 
young  in  these  social  nurseries  know  their  par- 
ticular parents  has  always  been  an  interesting 
question  with  me,  and  I  studied  their  ways  for 
some  clew  to  the  truth.  I  noticed  when  one  of 
the  parents  swooped  over  them  or  came  near,  to 
alight,  not  more  than  one  or  two  of  the  waiting 
babies  on  the  wire  would  flutter  and  ask  for 
food,  and  I  saw  also,  on  such  occasions,  that 
they  were  usually  fed.  When  somewhat  later 
another  parent  came  near,  a  different  little  one 
would  ask  and  be  fed.  They  did  not  all,  or  even 
any  great  number,  ask  every  time  an  old  bird 
came  about,  which  certainly  looked  as  if  the  lit- 
tle ones  knew  their  own  parents. 

After  a  while  the  swallows  came  out  in  great 
numbers.  There  were  hundreds  at  a  time  on 
the  telegraph  wires,  all,  both  old  and  young, 
talking  at  once  —  as  it  appeared.  They  had 
flight  exercises,  when  the  whole  flock  rose  at 
once,  filling  the  air  with  wings.  This  gathering 
continued  for  three  or  four  days,  while  all  other 
birds  seemed  to  have  disappeared,  and  then  one 
morning  they  were  gone  to  the  marsh,  where  we 
often  saw  them  afterward,  and  the  other  birds 
returned  to  their  usual  haunts. 


X. 

IN  A   COLORADO   NOOK. 

THE  loveliest  nook  I  know  is  one  of  feature's 
wild  gardens,  on  the  banks  of  the  "  Shining 
Water,"  at  the  foot  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  It 
is  forever  fresh  and  green  in  my  memory.  Let 
me  picture  it  for  you,  dear  reader,  as  I  saw  it 
last. 

It  is  June,  and  we  are  sitting  under  a  low  tree 
buried  up  to  our  shoulders  in  a  luxuriant  growth 
of  weeds.  Before  us  towers  beautiful  Cheyenne, 
its  wonderful  red  rocks  gorgeous  in  the  morn- 
ing sun  ;  above  us  stretches  the  violet-blue  sky, 
while  all  about  us,  filling  our  lungs,  and  bracing 
and  invigorating  our  whole  being,  is  the  glorious 
mountain  air  of  Colorado.  Outside  our  shady 
nook  the  sunshine  glows  and  burns,  but  we  are 
cool  and  comfortable. 

The  little  field  between  our  seat  and  the 
mountain  is  all  given  up  to  weeds,  with  here  and 
there  a  small  oak-tree,  and  shut  in  by  a  hedge 
of  oak  saplings  and  low  willows.  I  say  weeds, 
but  think  not  of  an  eastern  weed-grown  spot ; 
imagine  neither  pigweed,  smartweed,  burdock, 


178  IN  A    COLORADO   NOOK. 

nor  sorrel.  Rather,  picture  in  your  mind  a 
flower-bed,  more  rich  and  gay  than  ever  met 
your  admiring  eyes.  Yellow  daisies  by  thou- 
sands turning  their  shining  faces  up  to  the  sun  ; 
royal  purple  clusters  of  a  blossoming  mint  glow- 
ing in  the  brilliant  light ;  larkspurs  four  feet 
high,  thrusting  themselves  above  the  rest  like 
blue  banners  here  and  there  ;  while  lower  down 
peep  out  white,  and  blue,  and  lavender,  and 
other  modest  posies,  and  everywhere  our  fa- 
miliar woods  flower  the  wild  geranium,  whose 
office  it  seems  to  be  in  Colorado  to  fill  all  va- 
cancies, much  larger  and  more  luxurious  than 
ours,  though  quite  as  dainty  and  as  impatient 
of  handling.  Almost  within  reach  of  our  hand 
we  easily  count  a  dozen  varieties  of  blossoms, 
while  at  the  back  of  the  little  field  are  masses  of 
a  tall  plant  gone  to  seed.  This  departed  bloom 
must  have  resembled  our  elder  in  shape  and 
size,  and  now  it  makes  a  wonderful  display  of 
seeds  in  all  shades  of  green,  yellow,  and  golden 
brown,  according  to  the  various  degrees  of  ripe- 
ness. It  is  very  effective,  almost  more  beauti- 
ful than  blossoms,  certainly  more  harmonious. 

Over  all  this  growing  glory  butterflies  flutter, 
and  bees  go  hither  and  thither,  and  still  higher 
zigzag  dozens  of  dragonflies.  Behind  us,  a  few 
steps  away,  is  the  brook  Minnelowan,  whose 
musical  murmur  is  in  our  ears,  but  we  will  not 


CURIOUS  BABIES.  179 

turn  around  just  yet.  Truly  it  is  good  to  be 
here  ;  to  rest  from  the  world  of  conventionality ; 
to  get  into  harmony  with  nature ;  to  steep  our 
souls  in  the  wildness,  the  freshness,  and  the 
eternal  youth  of  the  growing  world  about  us. 

But  we  are  seeking  birds ;  we  must  control 
our  enthusiasm  and  listen.  Now  we  become 
aware  of  low,  sharp,  insect-like  cries  about  us. 
They  seem  to  come  from  all  sides  at  once ;  we 
find  it  impossible  to  locate  them,  till  a  sudden 
chorus  of  loud  and  excited  "  smacks  "  directs 
our  attention  to  the  tree  over  our  heads,  and 
our  eyes  fall  upon  a  pair  of  frantic  little  fellow- 
creatures  in  golden  yellow,  hopping  about  on 
the  branches,  posturing  and  gesticulating  with 
vehemence,  and  addressing  their  remarks  most 
pointedly  to  us. 

We  have  doubtlessly  invaded  what  they  con- 
sider their  domain.  Those  insect-like  chirps 
are  the  voices  of  their  little  folk,  probably  just 
out  of  the  nest,  brand-new,  ignorant,  and  curious 
babies,  who  know  no  better  than  to  stare  at  us, 
and  make  their  comments  within  reach  of  our 
hands.  They  are  not  yet  trained  to  know  and 
avoid  their  greatest  enemy,  which  you  may  not 
know,  dear  reader,  that  you  are,  not  because 
you  are  bloodthirsty,  but  because  you  belong  to 
a  bloodthirsty  race. 

Now  one  of  the  babies  comes  in  sight,  in  soft 


180  /AT  A    COLORADO   NOOK. 

olive,  with  golden  suggestions  on  tail  and  body ; 
but  mamma,  horrified  that  he  has  exposed  him- 
self to  our  gaze,  hurries  him  away,  and  soon  the 
chorus  of  peeps  and  smacks  —  the  yellow-bird 
baby  talk  —  grows  more  distant,  and  the  whole 
family  of  golden  warblers  is  gone.  It  is  re- 
markable how  much  these  little  folk  know  about 
our  ways.  If  we  walk  through  their  territory 
talking  and  laughing,  the  birds  will  continue 
their  own  affairs,  singing  and  calling,  and  carry- 
ing on  their  domestic  concerns  as  though  we  were 
blind  and  deaf,  as  indeed  most  of  us  are  to  the 
abundant  life  about  us.  But  when  they  see  us 
quiet,  looking  at  them,  showing  interest  in  their 
ways,  they  recognize  us  at  once  as  a  suspicious 
variety  of  the  genus  homo,  who  must  be  watched. 
At  once  they  are  on  guard ;  they  turn  shy  and 
try  to  slip  out  behind  a  bush,  or  —  if  hampered 
by  an  untrained  family  of  little  ones  —  attempt 
to  expostulate  with  us,  or  to  drive  us  away. 

All  this  time  you  have  perhaps  been  conscious 
of  a  delicate  little  song,  like  the  ringing  of  a 
silver  bell,  over  at  the  edge  of  our  wild  garden. 
Now  listen ;  you  will  hear  a  rustle  as  of  dead 
leaves,  a  low  utterance  like  a  hoarse  "mew," 
then  an  instant's  pause,  and  the  bell  song  again. 
Turn  your  glass  toward  the  thick  shrubbery,  at 
a  point  where  you  can  see  the  ground  at  the 
foot  of  the  bushes.  In  a  moment  you  catch  a 


A   R^IPTUROUS   SONG.  181 

glimpse  of  the  mysterious  bell-ringer,  nearly  as 
big  as  a  robin,  modestly  dressed  in  black  and 
white  and  chestnut,  going  about  very  busily  on 
the  ground  ;  now  giving  a  little  jump  that  throws 
a  light  shower  of  dirt  and  leaves  into  the  air, 
then  looking  earnestly  in  the  spot  thus  uncov- 
ered, perhaps  picking  something  up,  then  hop- 
ping to  the  lowest  twig  of  the  bush,  and  flinging 
out  upon  the  air  his  joyous  song.  We  are  for- 
tunate to  see  him  so  soon ;  he  might  tantalize 
us  all  day  with  his  song,  and  never  give  us 
a  glimpse  of  himself,  for  he  delights  in  these 
quiet  places,  under  the  thickest  shrubs.  He  is 
the  towhee  bunting  or  chewink,  sometimes 
called  ground  robin,  and  in  that  corner  of  Colo- 
rado he  takes  the  place  the  robin  fills  with  us, 
the  most  common  bird  about  the  house. 

Keep  very  still,  and  we  may  perhaps  hear  his 
most  ecstatic  song,  for  remember  it  is  June,  the 
wooing  and  nesting  time  of  our  feathered  friends, 
when  their  songs  and  their  plumes  are  in  perfec- 
tion. The  love-song  of  this  particular  chewink 
is  simply  his  usual  silver-bell  peal,  with  the  ad- 
dition of  two  rich  notes  in  tremolo  :  first  a  note 
lower  in  the  scale  than  the  bell,  then  a  note 
higher,  each  a  soft,  delicious,  rapturous  utterance 
impossible  to  describe,  but  enchanting  to  hear. 

The  nest  is  doubtless  close  by,  but  it  will  be 
lost  time  to  hunt  for  it  in  a  wilderness  of  bushes 


182  IN  A    COLORADO   NOOK. 

like  this,  for  it  is  a  mere  cup  in  the  ground, 
hidden  under  the  thickest  shrubs  that  the  brown- 
clad  spouse  of  the  towhee  can  find.  If  we  did 
uncover  it  we  might  not  recognize  it,  so  per- 
fectly do  the  colors  of  the  birds,  old  and  young, 
and  even  of  the  eggs,  harmonize  with  the  earth 
in  which  it  is  placed. 

I  once  found,  in  another  place  a  nest  full 
of  chewink  babies.  It  was  where  a  patch  of 
sage  bushes  stretched  down  the  mountain,  bor- 
dered by  a  thick  clump  of  oak  brush  seven  or 
eight  feet  high.  My  attention  was  called  to  it 
by  the  owner  himself,  who  alighted  on  the  oaks 
with  a  beak  full  of  food,  and  at  once  began  to 
utter  his  cry  of  distress,  or  warning  to  his  mate. 
The  moment  he  began  I  heard  a  rustle  of  wings 
behind  me,  and  turning  quickly  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  shy  dame,  skulking  around  a  sage  bush. 
A  little  search  revealed  the  nest,  carefully  hid- 
den under  the  largest  branch  of  the  shrub.  It 
was  a  deep  cup,  sunk  into  the  ground  to  the 
brim,  and  three  young  birds  opened  their  mouths 
to  be  fed  when  I  parted  the  leaves  above  them. 

Studying  a  nest  among  the  sage  bushes  is  not 
so  easy  as  one  might  imagine.  This  was  so 
closely  covered  by  the  low-growing  branches 
that  I  could  see  it  only  by  holding  them  one 
side.  Moreover  the  sage  is  what  is  called  in  the 
books  a  social  plant ;  where  there  is  one  there 


AMONG   THE   SAGE  BUSHES.  183 

may  be  a  thousand,  as  like  each  other  as  so 
many  peas.  The  particular  bush  that  hid  my 
chewink  babies  had  to  be  marked,  as  one  would 
mark  the  special  tuft  of  grass  that  hides  a  bobo- 
link's nest. 

However,  I  spent  an  hour  or  two  every  day 
in  the  sage  patch,  watching  the  wind  sweep  over 
it  in  silvery  waves,  and  getting  acquainted  with 
the  nesting-birds.  All  sorts  of  mano3uvres  the 
father  of  the  family  tried  on  me,  such  as  going 
about  carrying  food  conspicuously  in  the  mouth, 
then  pretending  to  visit  a  far-off  spot  and  re- 
turning without  it ;  but  he  always  ended  by 
mounting  the  oak  brush,  ruffling  up  his  neck 
feathers  till  they  stood  out  like  a  ruff,  and 
uttering  his  cry ;  it  can  hardly  be  called  of  dis- 
tress, it  became  so  evidently  perfunctory.  His 
mate  never  tried  deception,  but  relied  upon 
skulking  to  and  fro,  unseen  among  the  bushes. 

In  seven  or  eight  days,  as  soon,  in  fact,  as  they 
could  stand,  the  nestlings  deserted  the  little 
home  and  I  saw  them  no  more,  but  I  learned 
one  fact  new  to  me  about  the  singing  of  the 
chewink.  After  the  nest  was  abandoned  I  sat 
down  in  the  usual  place,  hoping  to  hear  the  sil- 
ver tremolo  I  am  so  fond  of.  In  a  moment  my 
bird  began.  Securely  hidden,  as  he  thought,  by 
the  impenetrable  oak  brush,  in  the  dim  seclu- 
sion he  loves,  he  poured  out  his  simple  yet 


184  IN  A    COLORADO   NOOK. 

effective  song  for  some  time.  Then,  to  my 
amazement,  with  hardly  a  pause,  he  began  a 
second  song,  quite  different,  and  unlike  any 
chewink  song  I  have  heard.  I  had  thought 
this  bird  more  closely  confined  to  one  role  than 
most  others,  for  none  who  have  studied  birds 
will  agree  with  the  poet  that 

"  Each  sings  its  word  or  its  phrase,  and  then 
It  has  nothing  further  to  sing  or  to  say  ;  " 

but  I  learned  on  this  day,  and  confirmed  it 
somewhat  later,  that  the  chewink  can  vary  his 
song  considerably. 

But  let  us  return  to  our  nook.  We  will  now 
turn  around,  and  the  world  is  totally  changed 
for  us.  Let  us  seat  ourselves  under  a  tall  old 
pine-tree,  whose  delicious  aroma  the  hot  sun 
draws  out,  and  the  gentle  breeze  wafts  down  to 
refresh  and  delight  us  here  below. 

Before  us  is  the  brook,  faint-hearted  in  man- 
ner, and  only  a  murmur  where  last  summer  it 
was  a  roar.  Alas  !  the  beautiful  stream  has  seen 
reverses  since  first  I  lingered  on  its  banks  with 
joy  and  admiration.  Far  up  above,  just  after 
it  leaves  the  rocky  walls  of  Cheyenne  Canon,  it 
has  fallen  into  the  greedy  hands  of  men  who 
have  drawn  off  half  of  it  for  their  private  ser- 
vice. So  the  sparkling  waters  which  gathered 
themselves  together  near  the  top  of  Cheyenne, 
leaped  gayly  down  the  seven  steps  of  the  falls, 


A   BEWITCHING  BEAUTY.  185 

and  rushed  and  bounded  over  the  rocks  of  the 
canon,  now  run  tamely  down  between  rows  of 
turnips  and  potatoes,  water  an  alfalfa  field, 
bathe  the  roots  of  a  row  of  tired-looking  trees, 
or  put  a  lawn  a-soak.  The  fragment  that  is 
left  winds  on  its  old  way,  not  half  filling  its 
bed,  with  a  subdued  babble,  suited  to  its  altered 
fortunes. 

Still  there  is  enough  to  delight  a  brook-lover, 
and  this  spot  is  the  chosen  home  of  the  most 
bewitching  little  beauty  in  all  Colorado,  the 
Arkansas  goldfinch.  Clumsy  name  enough  for 
a  tiny  sprite  of  a  birdling,  not  so  large  as  our 
charming  little  goldfinch  in  his  black  cap.  He 
is  exquisite  in  olive  green,  with  golden  yellow 
breast,  and  the  black  cap  and  wings  of  his 
family,  and  he  is  most  winsome  in  manner,  with 
every  tone  in  his  varied  utterances  musical  and 
delicious  to  hear.  As  he  flies  over  in  bounding 
waves,  calling  "  Swe-eet !  swe-eet !  "  often  end- 
ing with  an  entrancing  tremolo,  your  very  soul 
is  taken  captive.  What  would  you  not  give  to 
see  the  dainty  cradle  of  his  younglings  !  Not 
far  away  you  may  see  two  thistle-blooms  pulled 
to  pieces  ;  no  doubt  the  down  has  gone  to  make 
a  bed  for  goldfinch  babies,  for  nothing  that 
grows,  except  thistledown,  is  quite  soft  and 
delicate  enough  for  the  purpose. 

We  will  not  try  to  find  the  nest.     He  is  the 


186  IN  A    COLORADO   NOOK. 

most  shy,  the  most  elusive  of  birds,  living  in  the 
tops  of  the  tallest  trees,  and  flitting  from  one  to 
another  like  a  sunbeam,  showing  only  a  glint  of 
a  golden  breast  as  he  goes.  One  is  maddened 
by  the  medley  of  calls  and  scraps  of  song,  the 
trills  and  tremolos  in  the  sweetest  and  most  en- 
ticing tones,  while  not  able  to  catch  so  much  as 
a  glimpse  of  the  bonny  bird  who  utters  them. 
His  love-song  is  utterly  captivating,  as  raptur- 
ous as  that  of  the  American  goldfinch,  with  a 
touch  of  plaintiveness  that  makes  it  wonderfully 
thrilling.  It  is  mostly  in  tremolo,  a  sort  of  in- 
describable vocal  "  shake  "  that  is  enchanting 
beyond  the  power  of  words  to  express.  When 
he  is  not  singing,  one.  may  often  hear  his  low, 
earnest  chatter  and  talk  with  his  mate,  in  the 
same  plaintive  and  winsome  tones. 

Ah,  how  little  we  can  see  of  what  goes  on 
about  us,  though  we  are  closely  watching,  and 
every  sense  is  alert !  On  one  side  is  a  flash  of 
wings,  and  somebody  disappears  before  he  is 
seen ;  from  the  other  comes  an  unfamiliar  note, 
and  a  rustle  of  leaves,  behind  which  the  author 
is  hidden.  Here  two  bird  voices  are  heard  in 
excited  talk,  but  your  hasty  glance  falls  only 
on  the  swaying  twig  that  proclaims  their  flight ; 
and  in  the  tops  of  tall  trees  is  a  whole  world  of 
life  and  action  entirely  beyond  your  vision. 

Early  in  the  study  of  bird-life  one  must  learn 


HOW   TO   BE  HAPPY.  187 

to  be  content  with  comparatively  little,  and  not 
set  his  heart  on  solving  every  mystery  of  sound 
or  glimpse  which  comes  to  him.  One  must  be 
content  to  let  some  things  remain  unknown,  and 
enjoy  what  he  can  understand,  if  he  would  be 
happy  with  nature.  And  if  at  some  future  time 
—  as  often  happens  —  the  mystery  is  solved,  the 
joy  is  great  enough  to  pay  for  waiting,  and  much 
greater  than  if  he  had  worried  and  tramped  the 
country  over  in  attempts  to  settle  it. 

I  have  seen  it  recommended  as  the  best  way 
to  know  birds,  to  follow  every  note  heard,  till 
the  bird  is  found  and  identified.  This  method 
requires  great  activity,  and  often  an  hour's  search 
results  in  the  discovery  of  an  unfamiliar  note  of 
a  familiar  bird,  —  the  robin  or  sparrow,  perhaps. 
Meanwhile  one  has  missed  a  dozen  charming 
scenes  in  bird-life,  and  a  chance  to  make  ac- 
quaintances worth  more  than  the  gratification  of 
that  curiosity.  The  wiser  course,  it  seems  to 
me,  is  to  learn  to  be  content  with  what  comes  to 
you,  and  not  mourn  over  what  eludes  you  ;  to  be 
happy  with  what  nature  offers  you,  nor  make 
yourself  miserable  over  what  she  for  the  present 
withholds  ;  to  adopt  for  your  motto  the  grand 
words  of  a  fellow  bird-lover,  — 

••  What  is  mine  shall  know  my  face." 

And  in  spite  of  such  regrets,  enough  is  always 
left  to  repay  patient  waiting.  From  across  the 


188  IN  A    COLORADO   NOOK. 

brook  conies  the  unceasing  cry  of  the  Maryland 
yellow-throat,  "  Witches  here  !  witches  here !  " 
and  you  can  readily  believe  him,  especially  as 
with  your  best  efforts  you  can  see  scarcely  more 
than  a  suggestion  of  his  quaint  black  mask,  as 
a  small  form  dives  into  the  thick  bushes. 

Nor  are  birds  the  only  attraction  in  this  most 
fascinating  nook  ;  there  are  flowers.  Through 
the  dead  pine  leaves  on  which  we  sit,  here  and 
there  thrusts  itself  up  a  slender  stem,  holding 
upright  one  of  Colorado's  matchless  blossoms. 
This  is  the  chosen  nook  of  the  rare  gilia,  which 
hides  itself  under  the  edge  of  a  bush,  or  close 
against  a  low  tree,  bearing  its  pink  and  coral 
treasures  modestly  out  of  sight,  until  a  flower- 
seeking  eye  spies  it,  glowing  like  a  gem  in  the 
green  world  about  it.  Under  the  shrubs  which 
hem  in  our  nook  on  one  side  grows  here  and 
there  a  rosy  cyclamen  ;  out  in  the  sunshine  are 
bunches  of  bluebells ;  down  the  bank  beside  the 
water  are  great  masses  of  golden  columbine, 
while  a  fragrant  veil  of  blooming  clematis  is 
flung  over  the  weeds  between.  It  is  a  rarely 
lovely  and  flowery  spot. 

We  are  not  far  from  the  world,  however ;  this 
canon-like  valley  of  the  Minnelowan  is  narrow, 
and  through  it  passes  the  road.  Moreover,  there 
are  many  openings  that  might  reveal  us  to  the 
procession  of  tourists  on  their  way  up  the  canon. 


SAUCY  LITTLE    WRENS.  189 

But  happily  the  sun  is  on  our  side,  and  the  sun 
of  Colorado  is  not  to  be  despised :  a  screen  of 
umbrellas  and  parasols  and  carriage  curtains 
shuts  us  from  view  as  completely  as  if  the  pass- 
ers-by had  no  eyes  on  that  side.  If  seen,  we 
should  be  classed  among  the  "  sights,"  and  the 
legitimate  prey  of  the  sight  seeker.  We  should 
certainly  be  stared  at,  perhaps  have  glasses 
turned  upon  us,  possibly  be  kodaked,  and  with- 
out doubt  take  prominent  place  in  all  the  news- 
paper letters  that  go  from  here.  But  we  may 
be  sure  of  solitude  till  the  sun  crosses  the  road. 

Yet  this  is  far  from  solitude.  Here  comes  a 
whole  bevy  reviling  us,  six  or  seven  of  them, 
running  up  and  down  the  branches  of  a  great 
bush,  all  scolding  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  — 
a  family  of  house  wrens  lately  emancipated  from 
their  wooden  castle  in  that  old  stump  across  the 
brook,  —  pert  and  saucy  little  parents,  and  droll 
babies  imitating  them  with  spirit. 

The  wrens  were  not  the  only  tenants  of  that 
old  tree-trunk  ;  I  have  spent  many  hours  beside 
it.  Such  conveniences  for  bird  homes  are  rare 
in  this  country,  and  that  one  was  well  occupied, 
and  offered  a  problem  I  was  never  able  to  solve. 
Beside  the  deserted  woodpecker  home  to  which 
the  wrens  had  succeeded,  there  were  two  freshly 
made  woodpecker  doors,  and  both  led  to  homes 
of  the  red-shafted  woodpecker  or  western  flicker, 


190  IN  A    COLORADO   NOOK. 

who  differs  from  our  familiar  flicker  only  in 
having  red  instead  of  yellow  shafts  to  his  wing 
and  tail  feathers,  and  wearing  the  red  badge  of 
his  family  on  his  "  mustaches  "  instead  of  on  his 
collar,  as  does  our  bird. 

One  day  when  I  was  watching  the  stump,  a 
male  flicker  came  with  food,  and  alighted  at  the 
lower  door,  upon  which  a  young  bird  put  his  bill 
out  and  was  fed  in  the  murderous-looking  fash- 
ion of  the  flickers.  Papa  thrust  his  long  beak 
down  baby's  throat,  and  gave  several  vicious- 
looking  pokes,  as  if  to  hammer  something  down. 
While  I  was  musing  over  this  strange  way  of 
feeding,  the  bird  left,  and  a  female  flicker  ap- 
peared. She  glanced  into  the  open  door,  and 
then  to  my  surprise  slipped  half  around  the 
trunk  and  a  foot  higher,  and  stopped  before  the 
other  hole,  which  I  had  not  noticed  till  then. 
Instantly  a  head  came  out,  much  bigger  than  the 
first  one,  uttered  the  familiar  flicker  baby-cry, 
and  was  fed. 

Then  the  question  that  interested  me  was, 
Were  there  two  nests,  or  one  of  two  stories  with 
babies  of  different  ages?  Did  both  belong  to 
one  pair,  or  was  that  little  dame  peeping  into 
her  neighbor's  house?  Much  time  I  spent  be- 
fore that  castle  in  the  air,  but  never  was  able 
to  answer  my  own  questions.  No  two  old  birds 
came  at  the  same  time,  and  no  difference  could 


THE   GLORY   OF   THE    WEST.  191 

I  discover  in  looks  or  manners,  that  answered 
the  query  whether  there  were  one  or  two  pairs  at 
work.  Now  they  have  all  flown,  and  only  the 
laugh  of  the  flicker  and  the  call  of  the  young 
ones  all  around  remain  to  tell  that  woodpecker 
babies  grew  up  in  the  tree. 

Now  let  us  close  our  glasses,  fold  our  camp- 
chairs,  and  go  back  to  the  camp,  our  present 
home.  As  we  turn  into  the  gate  another  voice 
strikes  our  ear,  louder,  richer,  more  attention- 
compelling  than  any  we  have  heard.  Listen : 
It  is  the  wonder  and  the  glory  of  the  West ;  it 
is  the  most  intoxicating,  the  most  soul-stirring  of 
bird  voices  in  the  land  where  thrushes  are  ab- 
sent ;  it  embodies  the  solitude,  the  vastness,  the 
mystery  of  the  mesa  ;  it  is  the  western  meadow 
lark.  This  is  his  nesting-time,  and  we  may  be 
treated  to  his  love-song,  the  exquisite,  whispered 
aria  he  addresses  to  his  mate.  As  I  have  heard 
it  when  very  close  to  him,  he  sings  his  common 
strain  several  times,  and  then  drops  to  a  very 
low  twittering  and  trilling  warble,  in  which  now 
and  then  is  interpolated  a  note  or  two  of  the 
usual  score,  yet  the  whole  altogether  different  in 
spirit  and  execution.  He  ends  by  a  burst  into 
the  loud  carol  he  offers  to  the  world.  There  is 
nothing  beyond  that  to  hear,  even  in  my  beloved 
nook. 


XI. 

THE  IDYL   OP   AN   EMPTY   LOT. 
A   CITY   STUDY. 

OPPOSITE  my  study  windows  is  an  empty  lot. 
It  is  of  generous  size  ;  six  residences  facing 
another  street,  with  high  board  fences,  stretch 
across  the  back ;  a  large  apartment-house  towers 
above  it  on  the  right,  and  a  tight  fence  defines 
it  on  the  left.  The  front  is  open  to  the  street, 
but  the  whole  is  so  given  up  to  weeds,  such  a 
tangle  of  rank  vegetation,  that  few  people  pene- 
trate it,  and  it  is  the  great  out-of-doors  for  the 
animal  life  of  the  neighborhood.  Looking  down 
upon  it  as  I  do,  constantly  spread  out  under  my 
windows,  I  cannot  choose  but  see  everything 
that  goes  on. 

Last  summer  was  the  blossoming-time  of  the 
empty  lot.  It  had  but  one  summer  of  romance 
—  just  one  —  between  the  building  of  the  brick 
row  behind  it  and  the  beginning  of  the  new  row 
which  shall  hide  it  from  the  sun  for  ages,  per- 
haps. 

It  was  not  attractive  in  the  spring,  for  man 
had  done  what  he  could  to  deface  it.  Here  is  a 


A  RELAPSE  INTO  BARBARISM.     193 

curious  fact :  the  human  being  is  capable  of  a 
certain  amount  of  civilization  under  the  pressure 
of  the  necessities  of  city  life.  He  —  or  she  — 
will  learn  to  dispose  inoffensively  of  the  waste 
and  rubbish  that  drag  after  him  like  a  trail 
wherever  he  goes.  He — and  always  likewise  she 
—  can  be  taught  to  burn  his  waste  paper,  to  bag 
his  rags,  to  barrel  his  ashes,  to  burn  the  refuse 
from  his  table,  to  hide  the  relics  of  china  and 
glass.  In  fact,  he  can  live  in  a  modern  house 
with  no  back  yard,  no  "  glory-hole  "  whatever. 

Yet  if  one  would  see  how  superficial  his  cul- 
ture, how  easy  his  relapse  into  barbarism,  he 
need  only  open  his  windows  upon  an  empty  lot. 
This  tempting  space,  this  unguarded  bit  of  the 
universe,  brings  out  all  the  savage  within  him. 
Ashes  and  old  boots,  broken  glass,  worn-out  tin 
pans,  and  newspapers  whose  moment  is  over, 
alike  drift  naturally  into  that  unfortunate  spot. 
The  lot  under  my  window  had  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  lawless  men,  —  not  to  say  women, — 
for  it  offered  the  eternal  oblivion  of  "  over  the 
back  fence  "  to  no  less  than  ten  kitchens  with 
their  presiding  genii. 

Nor  was  this  all.  The  lot  and  all  the  land 
about  it  had  belonged  to  an  unsettled  estate,  and 
for  years  had  been  a  dumping-ground  for  carts, 
long  before  the  surrounding  buildings  had  begun 
their  additions  to  its  stores. 


194  THE   IDYL    OF  AN  EMPTY  LOT. 

But  last  spring  a  change  came  to  it.  Its 
nearly  fenced  condition  for  the  first  time  allowed 
Mother  Nature  a  chance,  and  anxious,  like  other 
mothers,  to  hide  the  evil  deeds  of  her  children, 
she  went  busily  to  work, 

"  With  a  hand  of  healing  to  cover  the  wounds 

And  strew  the  artificial  mounds 
And  cuttings  with  underwood  and  flowers." 

We  may  call  them  weeds,  but  forever  blessed 
be  the  hardy,  rapid-growing,  ever-ready  plants 
we  name  so  scornfully !  What  else  could  so 
quickly  answer  the  mother's  purpose  ?  She  had 
not  time  to  evolve  a  century-plant,  or  elaborate 
an  oak-tree,  before  man  would  be  upon  it  again. 
She  did  the  best  she  could,  and  the  result  was 
wonderful. 

When  I.  returned  from  the  country  I  found, 
to  my  delight,  in  place  of  the  abomination  of 
desolation  I  have  described,  a  beautiful  green 
oasis  in  the  world  of  stone  and  brick.  From 
fence  to  fence  flourished  and  waved  in  the  breeze 
an  unbroken  forest.  The  unsightly  heaps  had 
become  a  range  of  hills,  sloping  gently  down  to 
the  level  on  one  side,  and  ending  on  the  other  in 
an  abrupt  declivity,  with  the  highest  peak  bare 
and  rocky,  overhanging  a  deep  and  narrow  ra- 
vine. The  bordering  fences  were  veiled  by  lux- 
urious ailanthus  shoots,  chicory  blossoms  opened 
their  sweet  blue  eyes  to  every  morning  sun,  and 
it  was  beside 


A  NOBLE  FOREST.  195 

"Rich  in  wild  grasses  numberless,  and  flowers 
Unnamed  save  in  mute  Nature's  inventory." 

In  the  air  above,  myriads  of  dainty  white  but- 
terflies sported,  ever  rising  in  little  agitated  par- 
ties of  two  or  three,  climbing  gayly  the  invisible 
staircase  till  at  an  immense  height,  and  then 
fluttering  back  to  earth  no  wiser  than  they  went 
up,  so  far  as  the  human  eye  could  see. 

The  forest,  as  I  have  called  it,  was,  to  be  sure, 
by  measurement  of  man,  not  more  than  three  or 
four  feet  high.  But  all  things  are  relative,  and 
to  the  frequenters  of  that  pleas'ant  bit  of  wood- 
laud,  far  above  whose  head  it  towered,  it  was  as 
the  deep  woods  to  us.  I  chose  to  look  at  it  from 
their  point  of  view,  and  to  them  it  was  a  noble 
forest,  resembling  indeed  a  tropical  jungle,  so 
thickly  grown  that  paths  were  made  under  it, 
where  might  be  enjoyed  leisurely  walks,  given 
up  to  quiet  and  meditation.  For  there  were 
inhabitants  in  plenty,  —  the  regulars,  the  tran- 
sients, the  stragglers,  —  in  furs,  in  feathers,  in 
wings. 

In  this  nook,  secluded  from  the  world  which 
every  day  swept  by  without  a  glance,  a  constant 
drama  of  life  went  on,  which  I  could  see  and  be 
myself  unseen.  I  soon  became  absorbed  in  the 
study  of  it.  The  actors  were  of  that  mysterious 
race  which  lives  with  us,  and  yet  is  rarely  of  us ; 
whose  real  life  is  to  us  mostly  a  sealed  book,  and 
of  whom  Wordsworth  delightfully  sings,  — 


196  THE   IDYL    OF  AN  EMPTY  LOT. 

"  Think  of  the  beautiful  gliding  form, 
The  tread  that  would  scarcely  crush  a  worm, 
And  the  soothing  song  by  the  winter  fire 
Soft  as  the  dying  throb  of  the  lyre.' ' 

Yes,  the  cats,  whose  ways  are  ever  the  unex- 
pected, and  of  whom  I  am  so  fond  that  one  of 
the  most  touching  objects  unearthed  at  Pompeii 
—  to  me  —  is  the  skeleton  of  a  woman  holding 
in  her  arms  the  skeleton  of  a  cat,  whom  perhaps 
she  gave  her  life  to  save. 

The  builder  of  the  fences  at  the  back  of  this 
Cat's  Eden  very  considerately  capped  them  all 
with  a  board  three  inches  wide,  thus  making  a 
highway  for  the  feline  race,  not  only  across  the 
back,  but  from  that  to  each  house  door.  On 
this  private  path,  above  the  heads  of  boys  and 
dogs,  they  spent  much  time.  This  was  their 
Broadway,  and  at  the  same  time  their  point  of 
outlook,  where  they  might  survey  the  landscape 
and  decide  when  and  where  to  enter  their  se- 
cluded domain.  How  admirable  the  facility 
with  which  these  mysterious  beasts  pass  up  or 
down  high  fences !  Ladders  or  stairs  are  super- 
fluous. How  can  one  possibly  walk  several  steps 
down  a  perpendicular  board  without  falling  head- 
long to  the  ground  ?  And  still  more  strange,  — 
how  can  one  leap  squarely  against  the  same 
fence,  and  run  right  up  to  the  top  ? 

Soon  after  breakfast   on  every  fair  day  the 


THREE  REGULARS.  197 

houses  around  began  to  give  up  their  cats.  There 
were  three  in  whose  actions  I  became  specially 
interested.  The  most  important,  and  the  one  to 
whom  I  felt  the  place  belonged  by  right  of  ap- 
preciating it,  was  a  personage  of  dignified  man- 
ners, and  evidently  of  rank  in  his  own  world,  a 
magnificent  silver  tabby,  the  beauty  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. Next  in  interest  was  a  white-and-black 
cat  for  whom  I  had  sincere  respect  because  she 
lived  most  amicably  with  two  canaries  whose 
cages  were  always  within  reach  and  never  dis- 
turbed. The  third  was  to  my  eyes  anything 
but  attractive,  being  a  faded-looking  gray  tabby, 
who  entered  the  place  by  a  hole  under  the  fence 
next  the  apartment-house.  She  looked  ill-used, 
as  if  her  home  life  was  troubled  by  bad  children, 
or  a  frivolous,  teasing  dog,  or  a  raging  house- 
keeper who  left  no  peace  to  man  or  beast. 

For  whatever  cause,  when,  soon  after  break- 
fast, Madam  Grey  appeared  on  the  scene,  she 
proceeded  at  once  and  in  silence  to  the  highest 
bare  peak  of  the  hills,  a  sightly  place  where  she 
could  overlook  the  thick  green  forest,  with  its 
shady  walks  and  cool  retreats,  and  have  timely 
notice  of  any  approach  from  the  street.  On 
that  point  she  found  or  made  a  slight  depression, 
and  there  she  calmly  dressed  her  fur,  and  then, 
wrapping  her  robe  around  her  (so  to  speak), 
slept  hours  at  a  time. 


198  THE   IDYL    OF  AN  EMPTY  LOT. 

She  never  did  anything  on  the  lot  except 
sleep,  and  she  seemed  totally  blind  to  the  attrac- 
tions of  nature.  I  never  saw  her  notice  any- 
thing. As  soon  as  she  awoke  she  went  back 
through  the  humble  portal  to  her  flat. 

This  piece  of  woods  was  not  merely  a  pleas- 
ure-ground. It  was  a  hunting-field  as  well,  and 
the  denizens  of  its  quiet  shades  were  not  at  all 
averse  to  a  little  excitement  of  the  chase,  nor  to 
a  taste  now  and  then  of  wild  game  of  their  own 
catching.  What  was  there  I  know  not,  but  I 
judge  from  the  spasmodic  character  of  the  hunt 
that  it  was  grasshoppers. 

The  silver  tabby  and  the  white-and-black,  who 
were  daily  visitors  to  the  place,  never  quarreled 
with  each  other,  and  their  intercourse,  when  they 
happened  to  meet  on  the  common  highway,  was 
conducted  in  the  courteous  and  dignified  manner 
of  the  race. 

Cats  are  popularly  supposed  to  dislike  wet, 
but  I  have  seen  two  of  them  in  a  steady  rain 
conduct  an  interview  with  all  the  gravity  and 
deliberation  for  which  these  affairs  are  cele- 
brated. The  slow  approach,  with  frequent 
pauses  to  sit  down  and  meditate,  or  "view  the 
landscape  o'er,"  the  earnest  and  musical  —  if 
melancholy  —  exchange  of  salutations,  the  almost 
imperceptible  drawing  nearer,  with  the  slightly 
waving  tail  the  only  sign  of  excitement,  and  at 


A    WAY   OF  HIS   OWN.  199 

last  the  instantaneous  dash,  the  slap  or  scratch 
(so  rapid  one  can  never  tell  which),  the  fiery 
expletive  and  retort,  and  the  instant  retreat,  to 
sit  down  again.  There  seems  to  be  some  canon 
of  feline  etiquette  which  forbids  two  to  meet  and 
pass  without  solemn  formalities  of  this  sort, 
reminding  one  of  the  ceremonious  greetings  of 
the  Orient,  where  time  is  of  no  particular  value. 
The  silver  tabby  was  an  original,  and  had  a 
way  of  his  own.  He  seemed  impatient  of  these 
serious  rites,  and  when  within  three  feet  of  his 
vis-br-vis  he  usually  gave  one  great  leap  over  the 
intervening  space,  administered  his  salute,  — 
whatever  it  was,  —  and  passed  on.  This  cat  was 
peculiar  in  other  ways.  Sometimes  he  had  the 
whole  wood  to  himself,  and  it  was  charming  to 
see  him  wander  in  his  leisurely  way  all  over  it, 
smelling  daintily  of  this  and  that,  now  tasting 
a  leaf,  now  looking  intently  at  some  creeper  or 
crawler  on  the  ground,  now  sitting  down  to  en- 
joy the  seclusion  and  the  silence  of  the  wood. 
He  was  a  philosopher,  or  a  lover  of  nature, 

"  A  lover  who  knows  by  heart 
Each  joy  the  mountain  dales  impart." 

One  of  the  accusations  brought  against  this 
reserved  little  beast  is  that  he  does  not  love 
man.  Has  he  reason  to  do  so  ?  Tragedies  I 
have  seen  on  the  lot,  which  I  try  to  forget  and 
shall  not  repeat,  in  which  small  boys  demon- 


200  THE    IDYL    OF  AN  EMPTY  LOT. 

strated  in  their  treatment  of  the  abused  race 
how  much  more  brutal  than  a  brute  the  human 
animal  can  be.  Cats  show  their  intelligence  by 
being  wary  of  mankind. 

When  October  at  last  stripped  the  woods  of 
their .  summer  glory,  and  the  weather  was  no 
longer  warm,  the  heat-loving  creatures  deserted 
the  empty  lot,  except  the  silver  tabby,  who  often 
came  out  and  sauntered  through  its  lonely  paths, 
smelling  of  the  weeds  here  and  there,  seating 
himself  in  a  bower  that  was  still  green,  rubbing 
his  face  against  something  he  found  there,  and 
evidently  enjoying  sufficient  society  in  his  own 
thoughts,  for  to  him  plainly  it  was  still 

"  A  woodland  enchanted." 

Then  came  a  week  of  unwonted  glory,  of  dis- 
tinguished visitors.  All  the  summer  birds  had 
hovered  over  it ;  toward  evening  the  night  hawk 
circled  high  in  air  above  it,  uttering  his  wild, 
quaint  cry,  collecting  food  for  his  little  family, 
no  doubt  safely  reposing  on  some  gravel  roof 
near  by. 

And  there  were  always  the  city  sparrows. 
They  had  taken  possession  of  a  vine,  which, 
clambering  up  the  back  of  one  of  the  houses 
bordering  the  lot,  had  burst  into  sudden  luxuri- 
ance when  it  found  itself  without  further  support 
at  the  eaves,  spreading  out  each  side,  and  cling- 
ing for  dear  life  to  the  roof,  making  a  delightful 


A   RARE    VISITOR.  201 

screen,  as  well  as  a  comfortable  site  for  many  bird 
homes.  Indeed,  there  seemed  to  be  a  populous 
bird  village  behind  the  green  curtain,  and  great 
disturbances  sometimes  occurred,  and  I  could 
hear  the  excited  voices  of  the  residents  till  dark- 
ness put  an  end  to  their  discussions.  One  cool 
October  day,  as  I  sat  at  my  window  I  heard 
a  strange  bird  note,  and  my  ready  glass  in  a 
moment  revealed  a  rare  visitor  indeed,  —  a 
thrasher.  He  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  roof  sil- 
houetted against  the  sky,  tossing  his  tail  in 
excitement,  and  peering  eagerly  into  the  yards 
opened  out  before  him.  Suddenly  he  dashed 
into  a  tall  rosebush  leaning  on  the  back  fence 
of  the  empty  lot,  and  busied  himself  a  few  mo- 
ments, perhaps  with  the  rose  hips ;  then  finding 
that  too  near  the  four-footed  inhabitants,  he  re- 
tired to  the  roof,  looked  to  see  that  no  plebeian 
sparrows  were  at  home  in  the  vine,  then  plunged 
into  that  and  disappeared  behind  its  ample  foli- 
age. Here  he  spent  some  time  getting  the  ber- 
ries, as  I  cotdd  see,  and  during  his  occupancy  no 
sparrow  entered,  though  some  flew  by.  All  day 
he  remained  in  the  vicinity  ;  but  at  night  I  sup- 
pose he  resumed  his  journey  southward,  for  I 
saw  him  no  more. 

One  day  a  pair  of  juncos  appeared  on  the 
scene,  mingling  fraternally  with  the  sparrows, 
and  sharing  their  usual  pickings  around  back 


202  THE    IDYL    OF   AN  EMPTY   LOT. 

doors  and  along  the  back  fence,  and  white- 
throated  sparrows  showed  themselves  on  the 
shrubs  and  small  trees  which  overhung  the  divi- 
sion walls. 

But  the  crowning  day  of  the  empty  lot  came 
still  later,  when  a  fairy -like  kinglet  hunted  over 
the  rosebushes,  and  that  shy  woods  dweller,  the 
hermit  thrush,  condescended  to  show  his  graceful 
form  on  the  fence,  until  the  silver  tabby,  seem- 
ing to  regard  their  calls  as  intrusions,  took  up 
his  station  on  the  cats'  highway  and  I  saw  the 
birds  on  more. 


IN  THE  BIRD-ROOM. 


XII. 

THE   SOLITAIRE. 

Give  sunlight  for  the  lark  and  robin, 
Sun  and  sky,  and  mead  and  bloom ; 

But  give  for  this  rare  throat  to  throb  in, 

And  this  lonesome  soul  to  sob  in, 

Wildwoods  with  their  green  and  gloom. 

COATES   KlNNEY. 

FOR  three  years  there  lived  in  my  house  one 
of  the  remarkable  birds  described  in  their  native 
land  as  "invisible,  mysterious  birds  with  the 
heavenly  song."  I  have  hesitated  to  write  of 
him,  because  I  feel  unable  to  do  justice  either 
to  himself  or  to  his  musical  abilities ;  and,  more- 
over, I  am  certain  that  what  I  must  say  will 
appear  extravagant.  Yet  when  I  find  grave 
scientific  books  indulging  in  a  mild  rapture  over 
him;  when  learned  travelers,  unsuspected  of 
sentimentality  or  exaggeration,  rave  over  him ; 
when  the  literary  man,  studying  the  customs, 
the  history,  and  the  government  of  a  nation, 
goes  out  of  his  way  to  eulogize  the  song  of  this 
bird,  I  take  heart,  and  dare  try  to  toll  of  the 


206  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

wonderful  song  and  the  life  no  less  noble  and 
beautiful. 

Among  eight  or  ten  American  birds  of  as 
many  kinds,  the  solitaire,  or,  as  he  is  called,  the 
clarin,  reminds  one  of  a  person  of  high  degree 
among  the  common  herd.  This  may  sound  ab- 
surd ;  but  such  is  the  reserve  of  his  manner,  the 
dignity  of  his  bearing,  the  mystery  of  his  utter- 
ances, and  the  unapproachable  beauty  of  his 
song,  that  the  comparison  is  irresistible.  The 
mockingbird  is  a  joyous,  rollicking,  marvelous 
songster  ;  the  wood  thrush  moves  the  very  soul 
with  his  ecstatic  notes ;  the  clarin  equals  the 
latter  in  quality,  with  a  much  larger  variety. 
He  is  an  artist  of  the  highest  order ;  he  is 
"  God's  poet,"  if  any  bird  deserves  the  name  ; 
he  strikes  the  listener  dumb,  and  transports  him 
with  delight. 

The  solitaires,  Myadestes,  or  fly-catching 
thrushes,  are  natives  of  the  West  Indies  and 
Mexico,  with  one  branch  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. My  bird  was  M.  obscurus,  and  came 
from  Mexico.  I  found  him  in  a  New  York  bird- 
store,  where  he  looked  about  as  much  at  home 
among  the  shrieking  and  singing  mob  of  parrots 
and  canaries  as  a  poet  among  a  howling  rabble 
of  the  "  great  unwashed." 

Upon  a  casual  glance  he  might  be  mistaken 
for  a  catbird,  being  about  his  size,  with  plumage 


NO   DESIRE    TO  LIVE.  207 

of  the  same  shade  of  dark  slate*  with  darker 
wings  and  tail  and  slightly  lighter  breast ;  but 
a  moment's  examination  showed  his  great  dif- 
ference from  that  interesting  bird.  His  short, 
sharp,  and  wide  beak  indicated  the  flycatcher, 
and  his  calm  dark  eyes  were  surrounded  with 
delicate  lines  of  minute  white  feathers,  a  break 
at  each  corner  just  preventing  their  being  per- 
fect rings. 

Being  a  warm  admirer  of  the  catbird,  I  no- 
ticed the  stranger  first  for  the  resemblance  ;  but 
a  few  moments'  study  of  his  look  and  manner 
drew  me  strongly  to  himself,  and  though  I  de- 
sired only  our  native  birds,  I  could  not  resist 
him. 

When  introduced  to  his  new  quarters  in  my 
house,  the  clarin  did  not  flutter ;  he  did  not  re- 
sist. He  rested  on  the  bottom  of  the  cage  where 
he  was  placed,  and  looked  at  me  with  eyes  that 
said,  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ? " 
He  had  already  accepted  his  imprisonment ;  he 
did  not  expect  to  be  free,  and  it  was  plain  that 
he  no  longer  cared  for  his  life.  If  he  were  to 
be  subjected  to  the  indignity  of  traveling  in  a 
box  among  common  birds,  as  he  had  been  sent 
from  the  bird-store  where  I  found  him,  he  had 
no  desire  to  live.  It  required  much  coaxing  to 
make  him  forget  the  outrage,  and  I  am  glad  to 
say  it  was  the  last  affront  he  suffered.  From 


208  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

that  day  he  was  treated  as  he  deserved,  being 
always  at  liberty  in  the  room,  and  enjoying  the 
distinguished  consideration  of  a  houseful  of  peo- 
ple and  birds.  Before  he  came  to  understand 
that  his  life  had  changed,  however,  I  feared  he 
would  die.  He  did  not  mope,  he  simply  cared 
for  nothing.  For  more  than  twenty-four  hours 
he  crouched  on  the  floor  of  his  cage,  utterly  in- 
different even  to  a  comfortable  position ;  food  he 
would  not  look  at.  I  talked  to  him ;  I  screened 
him  from  noisy  neighbors ;  I  made  his  cage  at- 
tractive ;  I  spared  no  effort  to  win  him,  —  and 
at  last  I  succeeded.  He  took  up  again  the  bur- 
den of  life,  hopped  upon  a  perch,  and  began  to 
dress  his  feathers.  Soon  he  was  induced  to  eat, 
and  then  he  began  to  notice  the  bird  voices  about 
him.  Like  other  of  the  more  intelligent  birds, 
once  won,  he  was  entirely  won.  He  was  never 
in  the  least  wild  with  me  after  that  experience ; 
never  hesitated  to  put  himself  completely  in  my 
power,  or  to  avail  himself  of  my  help  if  he 
needed  it  in  any  way.  Says  another  bird-lover, 
"  Let  but  a  bird  —  that  being  so  free  and  un- 
controlled—  be  willing  to  draw  near  and  con- 
clude a  friendship  with  you,  and  lo,  how  your 
heart  is  moved ! " 

It  is  hard  to  tell  in  what  way  this  bird  im- 
pressed every  one  with  a  sense  of  his  imperial 
character,  but  it  is  true  that  he  did.  He  never 


A   MYSTICAL    CALL.  209 

associated  with  the  other  birds,  and  he  selected 
for  his  perches  those  in  the  darker  part  of  the 
room,  where  his  fellows  did  not  go.  Favorite 
resting-places  were  the  edge  of  a  hanging  map, 
the  top  of  a  gas  fixture,  and  a  perch  so  near  my 
seat  that  most  birds  were  shy  of  it.  Though  ex- 
travagantly fond  of  water,  requiring  his  bath 
daily,  he  greatly  disliked  to  bathe  in  the  dishes 
common  to  all.  Like  a  royal  personage,  he  pre- 
ferred his  bath  in  his  own  quarters. 

Moreover,  the  clarin  never  added  his  voice  to  a 
medley  of  music.  If  moved  to  sing  while  others 
were  doing  so,  he  first  reduced  them  to  silence 
by  a  peculiar  mystical  call,  which  had  a  marked 
effect  not  only  upon  every  bird  in  the  room,  but 
upon  the  human  listeners  as  well.  This  call  cut 
into  the  ripple  of  sweet  sounds  about  him  like  a 
knife,  loud,  sharp,  and  incisive,  instantly  silen- 
cing every  bird.  It  consisted  of  two  notes  ex- 
actly one  octave  apart,  —  the  lower  one  first,  — 
uttered  so  nearly  together  that  they  produced 
the  effect  of  one  double  note.  After  a  pause  of 
a  few  seconds  it  was  repeated,  as  clear  and  dis- 
tinct as  before,  with  mouth  open  wide.  It  was 
delivered  with  the  deliberation  of  a  thrush ;  the 
bird  standing  motionless  except  the  tail,  which 
hung  straight  down,  and  emphasized  every  note 
with  a  slight  jerk.  This  loud  call,  having  been 
given  perhaps  twenty  times,  began  to  diminish  in 


210  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

volume,  with  longer  intervals  between,  till  it  be- 
came so  faint  it  could  scarcely  be  heard,  —  a  mere 
murmur  with  closed  bill,  yet  so  remarkable  and 
so  effective  that  for  some  time  not  a  bird  peeped. 
Occasionally,  while  the  room  was  quiet,  he  began 
to  sing ;  but  again  it  appeared  that  it  was  his 
purpose  merely  to  hush  the  babble  of  music,  for, 
having  secured  his  beloved  stillness,  the  beautiful 
bird  remained  a  long  time  at  rest,  sitting  closely 
on  his  perch,  plainly  in  deep  content  and  happi- 
ness. Sometimes,  when  out  in  the  room,  he  de- 
livered the  call  with  extraordinary  excitement, 
turning  from  side  to  side,  posturing,  flirting  one 
wing  or  both,  lifting  them  quite  high  and  bring- 
ing them  down  sharply ;  but  when  in  the  cage 
at  dusk  —  his  favorite  time  —  he  stood,  as  I 
said,  motionless  and  without  agitation. 

In  another  way  my  bird  differed  from  nearly 
all  the  feathered  folk,  and  proved  his  right  to 
belong  to  the  thrush  family  ;  he  was  not  in  any 
degree  fussy ;  he  never  hopped  about  aimlessly, 
or  to  pass  away  time.  He  had  not  only  a  beau- 
tiful repose  of  manner,  but  there  was  an  air  of 
reticence  in  everything  he  did.  Even  in  so 
trivial  a  matter  as  eating,  he  was  peculiar. 
During  the  season  he  was  always  supplied  with 
huckleberries,  of  which  he  was  exceedingly  fond. 
Any  other  bird  would  take  his  stand  beside  the 
dish,  and  eat  till  he  was  satisfied ;  but  quite 


AT   THEt  MIRROR.  211 

otherwise  did  the  clarin.  He  went  deliberately 
to  the  floor  where  they  were,  took  one  berry 
daintily  in  the  tip  of  his  beak,  returned  with  it 
to  the  upper  perch,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me,  and 
suddenly,  without  a  movement,  let  it  slip  down 
his  throat,  his  eyes  still  upon  me,  with  the  most 
comically  solemn  expression  of  "  Who  says  I 
swallowed  a  berry  ?  "  Then  he  stood  with  an 
air  of  defiant  innocence,  as  if  it  were  a  crime 
to  eat  berries,  not  wiping  his  bill  nor  moving 
a  feather  till  he  wanted  another  berry,  when  he 
ate  it  in  exactly  the  same  way. 

The  clarin  defended  himself  against  imposi- 
tion, but,  except  to  his  own  reflection  in  the 
glass,  he  never  showed  warlike  inclinations. 
Upon  his  first  sight  of  himself  he  was  much 
excited.  His  feathers  rose,  especially  on  the 
back,  where  they  looked  like  a  hump  ;  his  beak 
pointed  toward  the  offensive  stranger,  he  uttered 
a  peculiar  new  war-cry  and  then  flung  himself 
violently  upon  the  enemy.  Of  course  he  brought 
up  against  the  glass,  and  dropped  panting  to 
the  bureau.  In  a  moment  he  rallied,  poured 
out  a  few  unfamiliar  notes  in  a  loud  strange 
voice,  with  wings  quivering,  body  swaying  from 
side  to  side,  and  tail  wide  spread.  Then  lifting 
both  wings  high  above  his  back,  he  repeated  the 
attack.  Finding  himself  a  second  time  baffled, 
he  remained  where  he  had  dropped,  silent,  a 
picture  of  despair. 


212  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

I  hastened  to  end  his  trouble  by  covering  the 
glass.  He  flew  several  times  around  the  room, 
then  alighted,  reduced  the  inmates  to  meek 
silence  by  his  mysterious  calls,  then  flew  to  his 
own  cage,  retired  to  the  upper  perch,  and  re- 
mained quiet  and  motionless  for  an  hour  or 
more ;  apparently  meditating  upon  the  strange 
occurrence,  and  wondering  how  the  elusive 
stranger  had  disappeared.  During  his  trouble 
before  the  glass,  all  the  birds  in  the  room  were 
excited ;  they  always  were  close  observers  of 
everything  he  did,  and  never  seemed  to  regard 
him  as  one  of  themselves. 

In  the  spring,  when  the  room  was  emptied  of 
all  its  tenants  excepting  two  or  three  who  could 
not  be  set  free,  the  clarin  was  a  very  happy  bird. 
He  flew  freely  and  joyously  about,  delighting 
especially  in  sweeping  just  over  my  head  as  if 
he  intended  to  alight,  and  he  sang  hours  at  a 
time.  The  only  disturbance  he  had  then  —  the 
crumpled  roseleaf  in  his  lot  —  was  the  presence 
of  a  saucy  blue  jay,  a  new-comer  whom  he  could 
neither  impress  by  his  manner  nor  silence  by 
his  potent  calls.  So  far  from  that,  the  jay 
plainly  determined  to  outshriek  him ;  and  when 
no  one  was  present  to  impose  restraint  on  the 
naughty  blue-coat  (who,  as  a  stranger,  was  for 
a  time  quite  modest),  he  overpowered  every 
effort  of  his  beautiful  vis-a-vis  by  whistles  and 


WRAPPED   IN  FURS.  213 

squawks  and  cat-calls  of  the  loudest  and  most 
plebeian  sort.  At  the  first  sound  of  this  vulgar 
tirade  the  imperial  bird  was  silent,  scorning  to 
use  his  exquisite  voice  in  so  low  company ; 
while  the  jay,  in  no  whit  abashed,  filled  the 
room  with  the  uproar  till  some  one  entered, 
when  he  instantly  ceased. 

The  regularity  of  the  clarin's  bath  has  been 
mentioned ;  he  dried  himself,  if  possible,  in  the 
sunshine.  Even  in  this  he  had  his  own  way, 
which  was  to  raise  every  feather  on  end  ;  the 
delicate  tips  rose  on  his  crown,  the  neck  plumage 
stood  out  like  a  ruff,  the  tail  spread,  and  the 
wings  hung  away  from  the  body.  In  this  atti- 
tude, he  looked  as  if  wrapped  in  exquisite  furs 
from  his  small  beak  to  his  slender  black  legs. 
He  shared  with  all  thrushes  a  strange  restless- 
ness on  the  approach  of  evening.  First  he 
moved  back  and  forth  on  one  perch  with  a  glid- 
ing motion,  his  body  crouched  till  the  breast 
almost  touched  the  perch,  tail  standing  up,  and 
wings  quivering.  Then  he  became  quiet,  and 
uttered  his  call  for  some  time,  and  soon  after 
settled  for  the  night,  sleeping  well  and  even 
dreaming,  as  was  evident  from  the  muffled 
scraps  of  song  and  whispered  calls  that  came 
from  his  cage. 

This  bird  has  all  the  sensitiveness  of  an  artis- 
tic temperament,  and  one  can  readily  believe 


214  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

that  in  freedom  he  would  choose  a  life  so  se- 
cluded as  to  merit  the  popular  name,  "  the  in- 
visible bird,"  inhabiting  the  wildest  and  most 
inaccessible  spots  on  the  rough  mountain-side, 
as  Mr.  Frederic  A.  Ober  found  some  of  his 
near  relations  in  the  West  Indies.  If,  in  spite 
of  his  reserved  manners,  any  bird  was  imperti- 
nent enough  to  chase  or  annoy  him,  he  acted  as 
if  his  feelings  were  hurt,  went  to  his  cage,  and 
refused  to  leave  it  for  some  time.  Yet  it  was 
not  cowardice,  for  he  could  and  did  defend  his 
cage  against  intruders,  flying  at  them  with  cries 
of  rage.  Also,  if  his  wishes  chanced  to  interfere 
with  the  notions  of  another  bird,  —  as  they  did 
on  one  or  two  occasions  that  I  noticed,  —  he 
showed  no  lack  of  spirit  in  carrying  them  out. 
Once  that  I  remember,  he  chose  to  perch  on  the 
top  of  a  certain  cage  next  a  window,  where  he 
had  not  before  cared  to  go.  The  particular 
spot  that  he  occupied  was  the  regular  stand  of 
another  bird,  one  also  accustomed  to  having  his 
own  way,  and  quite  willing  to  fight  for  it,  —  a 
Brazilian  cardinal.  The  cardinal,  of  course, 
disputed  the  point  with  the  clarin,  but  the  latter 
retained  his  position  as  long  as  he  desired,  run- 
ning at  the  enemy  with  a  cry  if  he  ventured  to 
alight  near.  In  general,  his  tastes  were  so  dif- 
ferent from  others  that  he  seldom  came  into 
collision  with  them. 


NOT  DARING  TO  LAUGH.        215 

When,  on  the  approach  of  spring,  some  of  his 
room-mates  grew  belligerent,  and  there  arose 
occasional  jarring  between  them,  my  bird  showed 
his  dislike  of  contention  and  coarse  ways  by 
declining  to  come  out  of  his  cage  at  all.  Al- 
though the  door  stood  open  all  day,  and  he  was 
kept  busy  driving  away  visitors,  he  insisted  on 
remaining  a  hermit  till  the  restless  birds  were 
liberated,  when  he  instantly  resumed  his  usual 
habits,  and  came  out  as  before.  His  sensitive- 
ness was  exhibited  in  another  way,  —  mortifi- 
cation if  an  accident  befell  him.  For  exam- 
ple, when,  by  loss  of  feathers  in  moulting,  he 
was  unable  to  fly  well,  and  fell  to  the  floor  in- 
stead of  reaching  the  perch  he  aimed  at,  he 
stood  as  if  stunned,  motionless  where  he  hap- 
pened to  drop,  as  if  life  were  no  longer  worth 
living.  Once  he  fell  in  this  way  upon  a  table 
beside  a  newspaper.  As  he  landed,  his  feet 
slid  on  the  polished  surface,  and  he  slipped 
partly  under  the  loose  paper,  so  that  only  his 
head  appeared  above  it.  There  he  stood  for 
five  minutes  looking  at  me,  and  bearing  a  droll 
resemblance  to  a  bird's  head  on  a  newspaper. 
He  was  not  more  than  four  feet  from  me,  and 
was  obviously  deeply  chagrined,  and  in  doubt 
whether  he  would  better  ever  tiy  to  recover  him- 
self ;  and  I  positively  did  not  dare  to  laugh,  lest 
I  hurt  him  more. 


216  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

The  first  time  the  clarin  fell  to  the  floor,  I 
ventured  to  offer  him  the  end  of  a  perch  which 
I  held.  Not  in  the  least  startled,  he  looked  at 
it,  then  at  me,  then  accepted  the  civility  by  step- 
ping upon  it,  and  holding  there  while  I  lifted 
and  carried  him  to  the  door  of  the  cage.  This 
soon  came  to  be  the  regular  thing,  and  all 
through  the  trying  season  of  moulting  he  waited 
for  me  to  bring  a  perch  and  restore  him  to  the 
upper  regions  where  he  belonged.  He  would 
have  been  easily  tamed.  Even  with  no  efforts 
toward  it,  he  came  on  my  desk  freely,  talked  to 
me,  with  quivering  wings,  and  readily  ate  from 
my  finger.  The  only  show  of  excitement,  as  he 
made  these  successive  advancements,  was  the 
rising  of  some  part  of  his  plumage.  At  one  time 
he  lifted  the  feathers  around  the  base  of  his 
head,  so  that  he  appeared  to  have  on  a  cap  a 
little  too  big,  with  a  fringe  on  the  edge  ;  and  on 
his  first  alighting  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  where 
I  sat,  the  feathers  over  his  ears  stood  out  like 
ear-muffs. 

When  at  last  the  clarin  and  the  blue  jay  were 
left  nearly  alone  in  the  room,  I  noticed  that  the 
clarin  began  watching  with  interest  the  move- 
ments of  the  jay.  They  had  never  come  in 
collision,  except  of  the  voice  above  mentioned, 
because  the  jay  preferred  the  floor,  chairs,  and 
desk,  and  seldom  touched  the  perches,  while  the 


STUDYING    THE    BLUE   JAY  —  SOLITAIRE  AND    BLUE   JAY 


IMITATING    THE  JAY.  217 

clarin  nearly  lived  upon  them.  But  after  some 
study  the  latter  clearly  made  up  his  mind  to  try 
the  places  his  larger  room-mate  liked  so  well. 
He  had  already  learned  to  go  upon  the  desk  and 
ask  for  currants,  which  in  the  absence  of  fresh 
berries  I  kept  soaking  in  a  little  covered  dish. 
If,  after  asking  as  plainly  as  eloquent  looks  and 
significant  movements  of  wings  could,  I  did  not 
take  the  hint  and  give  him  some,  he  flew  over 
my  head,  just  touching  it  as  he  passed.  But 
now,  having  resolved  to  imitate  the  jay,  he  went 
to  the  floor,  and  tried  all  of  his  chosen  retreats : 
the  lower  rounds  of  the  chair,  my  rockers,  my 
knee,  and  the  back  of  a  chair  sacred  to  the  jay. 
During  these  excursions  into  unknown  regions 
he  discovered  that  warm  air  came  out  of  the 
register,  and  apparently  thinking  he  had  discov- 
ered summer,  he  perched  on  the  water-cup  that 
hung  before  it,  spread  his  feathers,  and  seemed 
as  happy  as  if  he  had  really  found  that  genial 
season. 

Who  can  describe  the  song  of  a  bird  ?  Poets 
and  prose  writers  alike  have  lavished  epithets 
on  nightingale  and  mockingbird,  wood  thrush 
and  veery,  yet  who,  till  he  heard  one,  could 
imagine  what  its  song  was  like  ?  Yet  I  must 
speak  of  it. 

Singing  was  always  a  serious  matter  with  my 
bird ;  that  is,  he  never  sang  while  eating  or 


218  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

flying  about,  interpolating  his  exquisite  notes 
between  two  mouthfuls,  or  dropping  them  from 
the  air.  He  always  placed  himself  deliberately, 
and  waited  for  the  room  to  be  still,  —  or  made 
it  so,  as  already  related.  During  the  first  few 
months  of  his  residence  with  me  he  gave  one 
song  of  perhaps  twenty  notes,  ending  in  a 
lovely  tremolo.  This  had  great  variety  of  ar- 
rangement, but  all  bore  unmistakable  resem- 
blance to  the  original  theme.  It  was  in  quality 
totally  unlike  any  bird  note  I  ever  heard,  and 
thrilling  in  an  extraordinary  degree,  though  it 
was  uttered  with  the  beak  nearly  closed.  I  can 
readily  believe  what  Mr.  Ober  and  others  assert, 
that  it  must  have  a  startling  effect  when  poured 
out  freely  in  his  native  woods. 

This  song  alone  placed  the  clarin  at  the  head 
of  all  songsters  that  I  have  heard  or  heard  of, 
and  I  have  heard  all  of  our  own  best  songsters, 
and  the  nightingale  and  wood  lark  of  Europe. 
But  after  nearly  a  year  of  this  he  came  out 
one  memorable  day  with  an  entirely  new  melody, 
much  more  intricate  and  more  beautiful,  which 
for  some  time  he  reserved  for  very  special  and 
particular  occasions,  still  giving  the  former 
one  ordinarily.  Some  months  later,  to  my 
amazement,  he  added  a  third  chant,  part  of 
which  so  resembled  that  of  the  wood  thrush  that 
if  he  had  been  near  one  I  should  have  thought  it 


AN  ENCHANTING   SINGER.  219 

a  remarkable  mimicry.  He  delivered  this  with 
the  exquisite  feeling  of  the  native  bird,  even  the 
delicious  quivering  tone  at  the  end,  which  indeed 
my  bird  often  repeated  in  a  low  tone  by  itself. 
Sometimes,  when  the  room  was  very  still  and  he 
sitting  on  his  perch,  feathers  puffed  out,  per- 
fectly happy,  he  breathed  out  this  most  bewitch- 
ing tremulous  sound  without  opening  his  beak, 
—  a  performance  enchanting  beyond  words  to 
express. 

These  themes  the  clarin  constantly  varied, 
and  in  the  three  years  of  his  life  with  me  I  often 
noted  down,  in  a  sort  of  phonetic  way,  his  songs, 
as  he  delivered  them,  and  I  have  six  or  seven 
that  are  perfectly  distinct  and  different.  He 
never  mixed  them  together  or  united  them ;  he 
rarely  sang  two  on  the  same  day.  All  through, 
too,  there  seemed  so  much  reserve  power  that 
one  could  not  resist  the  conviction  that  he 
could  go  on  and  on,  and  break  one's  heart  with 
his  voice  if  he  chose.  The  bird's  own  deep  feel- 
ing was  shown  by  his  conduct ;  the  least  move- 
ment in  the  room  would  shut  him  up  instantly. 
One  could  heartily  say  with  another  bird-lover 
across  the  sea,  "  If  he  has  not  a  soul,  who  will 
answer  to  me  for  the  human  soul  ?  " 

It  was  reserved  for  the  last  weeks  of  his  life 
for  my  bird  to  give  me  the  most  genuine  sur- 
prise. One  day  I  sat  quietly  at  my  desk.  The 


220  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

bird  stood  on  a  perch  very  near  my  head,  —  so 
near  I  could  not  turn  to  look  at  him,  when,  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation,  without  an  instant's 
preliminary  practice,  he  burst  out  into  a  glori- 
ous, heavenly,  perfect  song  that  struck  me  dumb 
and  breathless.  Not  daring  to  move  hand  or 
foot,  yet  wanting  some  record  of  the  wonderful 
aria,  I  jotted  down,  in  the  page  I  was  writing, 
a  few  of  the  opening  notes  ;  I  could  re-write  my 
page,  but  I  could  not  bear  to  lose  the  music. 
Three  times,  at  intervals  of  perhaps  one  minute, 
he  uttered  the  same  marvelous  song,  and  then  I 
never  heard  it  again.  After  all,  I  had  not  a 
record  of  it,  for  though  it  was  deliberate  and 
distinct,  at  every  repetition  I  was  spellbound, 
and  could  not  separate  it  into  tones. 

Though  I  should  live  to  be  a  thousand  years 
old,  and  visit  every  country  under  heaven,  I  am 
sure  I  should  never  hear  such  a  rapturous  burst 
of  song  again,  — 

"  Low  and  soft  as  the  soothing  fall 

Of  the  fountains  of  Eden ;  sweet  as  the  call 
Of  angels  over  the  jasper  wall 
That  welcomes  a  soul  to  heaven." 

After  the  foregoing  study  was  written,  Mr. 
Frederic  A.  Ober  kindly  placed  at  my  disposal 
his  unpublished  notes  upon  another  solitaire, 
the  siffleur  montagne,  or  mountain  whistler. 
He  had  the  bird  in  confinement  for  some  time, 


LOVE   OF  SOLITUDE.  221 

while  in  the  Antilles  on  a  collecting  tour  for 
the  United  States  National  Museum ;  and  the 
bird's  character,  as  shown  in  captivity,  so  closely 
resembled  the  one  I  have  tried  to  depict,  that  I 
give  it.  as  evidence  that  others  have  similarly 
interpreted  the  manners  of  the  family. 

To  begin  with  his  love  of  solitude,  one  of  the 
strongest  characteristics  of  the  Myadestes  wher- 
ever found.  It  is  that  more  than  anything  else 
which,  in  connection  with  his  wonderful  song, 
has  wrapped  the  bird  in  mystery,  and  aroused 
the  superstitions  of  the  natives  of  the  countries 
in  which  he  lives.  Mr.  Ober  says,  and  every 
one  of  the  few  observers  who  have  succeeded  in 
seeing  the  bird  confirms  the  statement,  that  he 
is  found  only  in  the  most  solitary  places,  inac- 
cessible mountains,  wild,  gloomy  ravines,  and 
dark,  impenetrable  gorges.  Here  the  graceful 
bird  delights  to  dwell,  calling  and  singing  from 
his  post  on  a  branch  overhanging  the  perpen- 
dicular cliffs,  hundreds  of  feet  above  the  level 
earth.  One  of  them,  indeed,  secures  his  be- 
loved solitude  by  inhabiting  the  craters  of  ex- 
tinct volcanoes. 

In  sprightliness  of  manner  this  bird  of  soli- 
tude reminds  one  of  the  catbird,  'whom  he  also 
greatly  resembles  in  looks.  He  has  the  quick 
darting  movements  of  the  flycatchers,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  strange,  preoccupied  air,  that  seems 


222  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

to  make  him  oblivious  of  people,  although  they 
may  be  within  a  few  feet  of  him. 

Passing  one  of  these  peculiarly  lonely  places 
one  day  in  his  wanderings,  Mr.  Ober  heard  the 
note  of  the  siffleur  close  at  hand.  He  crept 
cautiously  through  the  trees  until  he  saw  the 
bird,  who  had  ceased  singing,  and  was  eating 
berries  from  a  tall  sh,rub,  clinging  to  its  hanging 
branches. 

He  soon  finished  his  repast,  flew  to  a  dead 
branch,  plumed  his  feathers,  and  after  a  few 
moments  resumed  his  singing.  He  uttered  a 
few  trills  of  a  rare  musical  quality  that  held  his 
listener  spellbound,  then  lightly  flew  to  another 
branch  overhanging  the  little  ravine,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  a  babbling  brook  made  music, 
—  "  not  so  liquid  as  siffleurs,"  —  says  the  his- 
torian. Here  a  few  more  strains  fell  from  him, 
then  he  flitted  to  a  swinging  vine,  repeated  his 
bewitching  note,  and  in  a  moment  disappeared. 
The  tones,  says  Mr.  Ober,  "are  thrilling  with 
solemn  music  and  indescribably  impressive." 
They  have  also  a  ventriloquial  quality,  and  many 
times  had  he  vainly  searched  for  the  singer, 
until  a  note  of  another  sort  betrayed  his  position, 
which  was  sohietimes  almost  over  the  observer's 
head. 

One  morning  a  captive  siffleur  was  dragged 
out  of  the  trousers  pocket  of  one  of  his  "  ragged 


THE  BIRD    INSULTED.  223 

brigade  "  and  presented  to  the  chronicler.  These 
boys,  whose  help  was  indispensable  to  the  col- 
lector, were  a  study  in  themselves.  They  were 
familiar  with  the  habits,  songs,  and  food  of  every 
bird  in  the  woods,  as  well  as  expert  in  imitating 
the  note  of  each  one,  and  by  this  means  drawing 
him  to  the  fatal  limed  twigs.  The  interesting 
birds  of  the  mountains,  the  siffleur,  the  trem- 
bleur,  and  others,  they  attracted  by  a  peculiar 
hissing  noise. 

The  bird  brought  to  Mr.  Ober  had  been 
caught  by  bird-lime  and  was  unhurt,  but  greatly 
mortified  and  insulted  by  his  treatment.  He 
seemed  at  first  dazed,  and  utterly  silent.  But 
after  a  while  he  gave  utterance  to  a  cry  of 
distress,  which  he  repeated  at  intervals  on  that 
first  morning,  particularly  when  people  came  too 
near  him.  Before  night  he  evidently  realized 
the  uselessness  of  protests,  and  became  silent. 
He  never  for  a  moment  displayed  the  wild  ter- 
ror and  panic  seen  in  most  birds  when  first 
caught. 

The  next  morning  he  ate  berries  and  drank 
fresh  water  calmly  and  without  fear;  but  for 
several  days  he  did  not  utter  a  sound.  One 
of  the  peculiarities  of  these  birds  is  their  fear- 
lessness in  the  presence  of  man,  or  perhaps 
more  correctly  their  intelligence,  which  prevents 
them,  as  it  does  our  native  thrushes,  from  be- 


224  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

ing  frightened  unless  there  is  something  really 
alarming. 

This  is  the  natural  and  charming  attitude  of 
bird  and  beast  toward  man,  until  taught  by 
deadly  experience  what  they  have  to  dread,  as 
has  been  proved  many  times. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  in  the  case  of  the  solitaires, 
fear  of  man  which  drives  them  to  their  secluded 
dwelling-places.  It  is  a  certain  reserve  of  char- 
acter, a  strong  dislike  to  a  crowd,  a  genuine  love 
of  solitude,  and  who  shall  say  there  is  not  also 
an  appreciation  of  the  attractions  of  scenery  ! 

After  Mr.  Ober's  bird  had  become  used  to 
his  captivity,  the  collecting  boys  brought  in  an- 
other prisoner,  a  trembleur,  so  named  because 
of  his  curious  and  restless  manners,  the  jerks 
and  quivers,  the  spasmodic  movements  of  head 
and  wings  and  tail,  and  the  bows  and  postures 
with  which  he  does  everything. 

The  unfortunate  trembleur  indulged  in  no 
amusing  antics  on  this  occasion,  however.  He 
was  overwhelmed  by  the  extent  of  the  disaster 
that  had  befallen  him,  —  captivity  in  the  hands 
of  his  worst  foe.  He  crouched  in  one  corner  of 
his  box,  looking  with  wonder  at  his  surround- 
ings. 

Now  appeared  a  new  trait  in  the  character  of 
siffleur.  His  deep  love  of  solitude  was  even 
aggressive  ;  he  would  not  tolerate  the  intrusion 


ANNOYED   BY  HUMMINGBIRDS.  225 

of  another  bird  upon  his  domain.  He  greeted 
his  fellow-sufferer  first  with  hisses  and  then 
with  threats  and  feints  of  war.  Trembleur  did 
not  respond,  but  he  presented  his  formidable 
bill  in  readiness  to  repel  attack. 

One  of  his  own  family,  another  siffleur,  being 
added  to  the  imprisoned  party,  the  first-comer 
was  most  unfriendly,  flying  at  him,  and  trying 
to  keep  him  from  food  and  water. 

Another  indication  of  the  bird's  love  of  quiet 
was  his  annoyance  at  the  hummingbirds,  whose 
ways  Mr.  Ober  was  studying,  and  who  flitted 
about  the  room  all  the  time.  From  the  first  he 
regarded  them  with  disfavor.  Their  frivolous 
manners  and  their  constant  humming  were  not 
pleasing  to  him  ;  but  when  they  became  so  im- 
pertinent as  to  alight  on  his  back,  this  trifling 
with  his  dignity  was  past  endurance ;  he  hissed, 
and  snapped  his  beak  at  the  elusive  little  crea- 
tures, and  finally  worked  himself  into  such  a 
rage  that  he  was  found  completely  exhausted, 
and  almost  in  a  dying  condition.  These  con- 
tinued excitements,  indeed,  so  wore  upon  his 
sensitive  nature  that  he  did  not  long  survive  his 
extreme  passion. 

This  was  the  more  to  be  regretted  because  of 
the  readiness  with  which  he  accepted  his  fate. 
He  became  tame  in  a  week  after  capture,  and 
readily  took  food  from  the  fingers.  From  the 


226  THE   SOLITAIRE. 

first  he  never  made  the  least  effort  to  escape,  but 
seemed  perfectly  contented,  so  long  as  he  was 
alone.  It  was  the  presence  of  intruders  —  as  he 
regarded  them  —  that  he  resented  so  fatally. 

One  of  this  most  interesting  family,  Town- 
send's  fly-catching  thrush  (^Myadestes  Town- 
sendii)  is  resident  in  the  mountains  of  Colorado, 
and  it  is  pleasing  to  see  how  the  most  scientific 
and  the  least  emotional  of  chroniclers  fall  into 
rapture  over  his  song.  "  Never  have  I  heard  a 
more  delightful  chorus  of  bird  music,"  says  one. 
"  The  song  can  be  compared  to  nothing  uttered 
by  any  other  bird  I  have  heard,"  says  another. 
"  A  most  exquisite  song  in  which  the  notes  of 
purple  finch,  wood  thrush,  and  winter  wren  are 
blended  into  a  silvery  cascade  of  melody  that 
ripples  and  dances  down  the  mountain-side  as 
clear  arid  sparkling  as  the  mountain  brook,"  says 
a  third. 

Charles  Dudley  Warner,  who  found  the  clarin 
a  favorite  cage  bird  in  Mexico,  says  of  his  song 
(in  "  Mexican  Notes  ")  :  "  Its  long,  liquid,  full- 
throated  note  is  more  sweet  and  thrilling  than 
any  other  bird  note  I  have  ever  heard ;  it  is 
hardly  a  song,  but  a  flood  of  melody,  elevating, 
inspiring  as  the  skylark,  but  with  a  touch  of  the 
tender  melancholy  of  the  nightingale  in  the 
night." 


XIII. 

INCOMPATIBILITY    IN  THE   ORIOLE   FAMILY. 

ONE  whole  year  I  entertained  in  my  bird-room 
an  individual  of  strongly  marked  character,  an 
orchard  oriole.  Wishing  to  study  his  habits,  I 
put  a  pair  of  this  species  into  a  big  cage,  hoping 
they  would  live  happily,  as  did  other  couples  in 
the  room  at  the  same  time.  The  pretty  little 
yellow  and  olive  dame  was  amiable  enough,  — 
she  could  live  in  peace  with  any  bird  in  the 
room  ;  but  her  comrade  rebelled  against  the  de- 
crees of  man.  He  was  an  autocrat ;  he  intended 
to  have  his  house  to  himself,  and,  more,  he  pur- 
posed to  appropriate  any  other  residence  he 
chose  to  select,  whoever  might  claim  it.  Hos- 
tilities began  the  moment  the  door  was  shut  upon 
them  ;  he  drove  her  away  from  the  food-cup,  he 
fought  her  over  the  bathing-dish,  he  answered 
her  sweet  call  with  a  harsh  "  chack  "  or  an  insult- 
ing "  huff,"  he  twitched  her.  feathers  if  she  came 
near  him,  and  gave  her  a  peck  if  she  seemed  to 
be  having  too  easy  a  time.  Withal,  such  was 
his  villainous  temper  that  he  desired  a  victim  to 
abuse,  and  never  let  her  out  of  his  sight  for  two 


228  ORIOLE   INCOMPATIBILITY. 

minutes,  lest  she  should  enjoy  something  he  could 
deprive  her  of.  She  was  of  a  happy  tempera- 
ment; she  contented  herself  with  what  was 
given  her.  If  she  could  not  have  pear,  she  cheer- 
fully ate  bread  and  milk ;  while  if  my  lord  could 
not  have  pear,  he  would  starve.  She  had  large 
dark  eyes,  and  soft,  delicate  colors,  with  legs  and 
feet  the  tint  of  light  blue  kid  ;  but  her  liege 
lord  was  in  the  immature  plumage  of  the  second 
year,  with  black  mask  covering  his  small  eyes. 

Hardly  were  the  two  orioles  let  out  into  the 
room  when  they  began  to  investigate  the  won- 
ders about  them  :  one  flew  to  the  fringe  of  a 
window-shade,  and  hung  head  down  while  try- 
ing with  sharp  beak  to  pry  open  the  cords  ;  the 
other  devoted  itself  to  unraveling  the  mysteries 
of  books  and  boxes,  very  spon  learning  to  open 
both  witli  the  same  prying  instrument.  The 
slats  of  the  blinds  were  appropriated  as  ladders 
to  run  up  and  down,  and  every  few  moments 
one  disappeared  in  some  hole,  never  hesitating 
to  creep  through  the  smallest  opening.  Madam 
went  up  out  of  sight  among  the  springs  of  a 
stuffed  chair,  while  her-  mate  set  himself  the 
task  of  pulling  out  the  stitches  of  embroidery 
on  a  toilet  cushion,  with  perfect  success.  Hav- 
ing exhausted  this  amusement,  he  looked  about 
for  new  worlds  to  conquer,  and  soon  found  sun- 
dry holes  in  the  wall-paper,  where  I  suppose 


IN   THE  LOOKING-GLASS.  229 

nails  had  been  driven,  though  they  were  so  hid- 
den by  the  confused  pattern  I  that  could  not 
see  them.  Before  the  walls  he  hovered  slowly, 
and  the  discovery  of  an  opening  was  the  signal 
for  work.  One  claw  inserted  under  the  broken 
edge  of  the  paper  was  perch  enough,  and  the 
first  intimation  of  the  mischief  was  the  falling 
of  bits  of  plaster  and  fluttering  fragments  of 
paper.  Of  thus  amusing  himself  he  could  never 
be  cured,  and  many  unsightly  places  remained 
to  tell  the  tale.  While  the  head  of  the  family 
disfigured  the  wall,  his  little  spouse  found  occu- 
pation in  working  at  a  paper  covering  the  cage 
of  a  gentle  bird  who  specially  disliked  intrusive 
neighbors.  First  she  pulled  out  the  pin  that 
held  it  in  place,  took  it  under  a  toe,  and  tried  to 
wrench  the  head  off ;  failing  in  this,  she  passed 
it  through  her  beak  back  and  forth  as  she  did  a 
worm,  evidently  to  reduce  it  to  a  softer  condi- 
tion. Finding  the  pin  intractable,  she  dropped 
it,  and  turned  her  attention  to  the  paper ;  tear- 
ing off  bits,  peeping  under  it,  and  constantly 
worrying  the  peace-loving  owner,  until  a  roof 
of  enameled  cloth,  securely  fastened  by  sewing, 
was  provided  for  him. 

The  only  one  in  the  room  whom  the  unlovely 
bird  found  it  impossible  to  annoy  was  the  oriole 
he  saw  in  the  looking-glass,  and  he  never  gave 
up  trying  to  reduce  even  him  to  a  proper  state 


230  ORIOLE   INCOMPATIBILITY. 

of  meekness.  Whenever  he  caught  sight  of  his 
reflection  he  was  furious  :  he  strode  across  the 
lower  support,  bowing  and  posturing ;  then  flew 
up  against  the  glass,  touching  it  with  breast  and 
claws,  and  beating  his  wings  against  it.  Failing, 
of  course,  to  seize  the  enemy,  he  peered  eagerly 
behind  the  mirror,  then  returned  with  fresh  rage 
to  the  charge  in  front.  After  a  while  I  placed 
the  glass  at  such  an  angle  that  he  could  not  see 
himself  from  below.  Instantly  he  alighted  on  a 
basket  that  hung  conveniently  near,  ran  to  the 
end  where  he  could  stretch  around  and  see  his 
face,  then  to  the  other  end  from  which  he  could 
look  behind,  uttering  at  the  same  time  a  loud 
cry.  This  also  he  kept  up  till  I  removed  the 
basket.  A  day  or  two  later,  the  discovery  of  a 
hand-glass  standing  on  a  table  gave  opportunity 
for  a  repetition  of  the  performance.  He  attitudi- 
nized,  drooped  his  wings,  beat  against  it,  hopped 
quite  over  it,  touched  the  glass  many  times  with 
his  beak,  and  at  last  circled  round  and  round, 
going  into  a  rage  whenever  he  reached  the  front, 
and  springing  suddenly  around,  as  if  to  seize 
the  elusive  enemy  behind.  It  was  a  strange 
exhibition  of  passion,  very  droll  if  it  had  not 
been  painful  to  see.  After  that  the  glasses  were 
covered. 

Repose  of  manner  was  unknown  to  the  orchard 
oriole ;  he  could  never  wait  a  moment  for  any- 


THE    ENEMY    IN    THE   CLASS  —  THE    ORCHARD    ORlULE 


GYMNASTICS    ON  THE  ROOF.  231 

thing.  If  he  wanted  to  bathe,  he  plumped  into 
the  dish,  whether  it  were  empty  or  not ;  thus  he 
often  surprised  a  more  dignified  bird  by  boun- 
cing in  beside  him  and  splashing  as  though  no 
one  else  were  in  sight.  In  fact,  the  bath  was  a 
constant  subject  of  dispute  ;  he  was  very  fond  of 
it,  and  the  sound  of  dashing  water  was  always 
irresistibly  tempting  to  him.  If  he  were  shut 
into  his  cage  with  no  other  amusement,  he  in- 
dulged in  gymnastics  on  the  roof,  running  about, 
head  down,  on  the  wires,  as  readily  as  a  fly  on 
the  ceiling,  and  often  hanging  by  one  claw, 
swinging  back  and  forth,  as  if  to  enjoy  the  up- 
side-down view  of  the  world.  If  he  stood  still 
two  minutes  on  a  perch  he  was  usually  asleep ; 
and  both  of  these  birds  indulged  in  daytime 
naps,  in  which  they  buried  their  heads  in  their 
feathers,  exactly  as  they  did  at  night. 

The  lord  and  master  of  this  household  was 
extremely  fastidious  in  his  fare.  Mockingbird 
food  he  despised,  bread  and  milk  he  left  to  his 
cage  mate,  apples  were  too  hard  to  please  him  ; 
nothing  appealed  to  his  taste  except  the  tender- 
est  of  Bartlett  pears,  and  of  these  he  conde- 
scended to  eat  one  a  day.  After  a  while,  in  his 
trampish  fashion  of  prowling  about  in  other 
birds'  houses,  he  discovered  that  mockingbird 
food  was  not  so  bad ;  and  although  he  scorned 
it  at  home,  he  soon  spent  half  his  time  in  going 


232  ORIOLE   INCOMPATIBILITY. 

from  cage  to  cage,  pulling  over  the  food-supply, 
and  selecting  dainty  bits  for  his  own  delectation. 
Naturally,  he  had  many  encounters  with  insulted 
proprietors,  and  some  narrow  escapes  from  a 
pecking;  but  he  accepted  these  little  episodes 
in  the  spirit  of  the  tramp,  regularly  poached 
upon  his  neighbors,  and  nothing  would  keep  him 
out  of  others'  cages,  or  convince  him  that  his 
own  dish  was  as  well  supplied  as  any.  The 
truth  is,  he  seemed  to  be  devoured  by  a  fear  that 
some  one  was  better  provisioned  than  he ;  and 
this  feeling  went  so  far  that  in  the  cage  of  a 
seed-eater  he  ate  seeds,  though  since  he  did  not 
take  off  the  shells  he  was  obliged  to  throw  them 
up  in  a  ball  somewhat  later.  Like  many  other 
birds,  the  orioles  were  fond  of  huckleberries, 
which  they  ate  daintily,  driving  their  sharp 
beaks  into  a  berry,  and  holding  it  under  one  toe 
while  they  neatly  extracted  the  pulp,  thrusting 
far  out  their  long  white  tongues  in  the  opera- 
tion. . 

Meal-worms  —  the  choice  morsels  of  the  bird- 
room  —  came  near  driving  the  oriole  wild.  It 
was  natural  for  him  to  take  one  under  his  toe, 
and  pull  off  small  bits  till  all  was  eaten,  but  his 
greed  made  this  way  very  distasteful.  How 
could  he  be  satisfied  with  a  slow  manner,  while 
thrushes  and  bluebirds  took  one  at  a  gulp,  and 
were  ready  for  more  ?  He  could  not ;  he  put 


HIS   DEAREST  DELIGHT.  233 

himself  iii  training,  and  in  a  few  days  could  bolt 
a  worm  as  quickly  as  anybody.  Now  it  became 
the  object  of  his  life  to  secure  them  all  for  him- 
self. He  was  so  quick  in  movement  that  he  had 
no  difficulty  in  swooping  down  upon  every  one 
that  was  put  out,  before  more  leisurely  birds 
had  stirred  a  feather.  When  he  was  absolutely 
incapable  of  swallowing  another,  he  continued 
to  seize  them,  kill  them  by  a  bite,  and  drop  them 
on  the  floor.  Nobody  cared  for  dead  worms, 
and  thus  the  selfish  fellow  managed,  as  long  as 
he  was  allowed,  to  deprive  every  bird  in  the 
room  of  his  share.  The  remedy  was  simple  : 
his  door  was  closed  till  the  other  birds  had 
eaten,  and  he  pranced  back  and  forth  before  it, 
actually  squealing  with  rage,  while  they  disposed 
of  the  dainties  in  their  own  natural  way. 

The  dearest  delight  of  this  bird,  however,  was 
one  which  no  other  in  the  room  shared,  —  catch- 
ing flies.  Observing  that  he  tried  to  get  one  on 
the  outside  of  the  window-frame,  I  thought  I 
would  indulge  him  ;  so  the  next  morning,  before 
the  cages  were  opened,  I  raised  the  windows. 
As  I  anticipated,  two  or  three  flies  came  in. 
The  oriole  saw  them  in  an  instant,  and  was 
frantic  to  get  out.  When  his  door  was  unclosed 
he  at  once  gave  chase,  and  never  rested  till  every 
fly  was  caught  and  eaten.  He  hunted  them  up 
and  down  the  windows  with  great  eagerness,  but 


234  ORIOLE   INCOMPATIBILITY. 

never  followed  them  back  into  the  room,  though 
of  course,  as  they  could  not  keep  away  from  the 
light  themselves,  they  all  fell  victims  sooner  or 
later.  After  that  several  flies  were  allowed  to 
come  in  every  morning,  and  no  sportsman,  of 
whatever  size,  was  ever  keener  after  his  prey, 
whether  fish,  fox,  or  tiger  from  the  jungle. 

The  little  dame  liked  flies  too,  and  if  one 
came  near  her  did  not  hesitate  to  appropriate  it, 
although  it  brought  her  mate  upon  her  "  like  a 
wolf  on  the  fold."  The  two  had  once  a  funny 
time  with  a  very  large  fly  which  fell  into  the 
hands  —  or  beak  —  of  madam.  The  victim  did 
not  submit  with  meekness ;  in  fact,  he  protested 
in  a  loud  voice.  This  at  once  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  the  master,  who  flung  himself  furi- 
ously at  his  usually  amiable  spouse,  to  snatch  it 
from  her.  She  did  not  give  it  up,  but  flew 
away,  he  following  closely,  and  the  fly  buzzing 
madly  all  the  while.  Round  and  round  the 
room  they  went  for  some  time,  till  he  was  tired 
and  gave  up,  when  she  alighted  and  tried  to  dis- 
pose of  her  prize,  which  was,  after  all,  rather 
embarrassing  to  her.  The  insect  was  large,  and 
she  seemed  afraid  to  put  it  under  one  toe,  as 
usual,  lest  she  should  be  attacked  and  have  to 
fly  suddenly,  and  so  lose  it.  When  she  did 
make  the  attempt  at  last,  her  movements  or  his 
strength  caused  a  slip  somewhere,  and  away  he 


THE   FLY  ESCAPED.  235 

went,  buzzing  louder  than  ever  in  triumph. 
This  sound  again  roused  the  hunter's  instinct, 
and  both  orioles  flew  wildly  after  that  noisy 
creature,  which  toojc  one  turn  around  the  room, 
then  alighted  on  the  top  of  the  lower  sash  of  a 
window,  and  passed  quickly  down  the  hole  made 
for  the  window-cord.  The  orioles  in  chase  of 
this  slippery  fellow,  seeing  him  outside,  came 
bang  against  the  glass,  and  then  dropped  to  a 
perch,  looking  rather  foolish. 

Very  soon  after  these  birds  were  at  home  in 
the  room,  the  female  began  to  sing  a  low  and 
sweet  song  of  considerable  variety.  The  male 
confined  his  utterances  to  scolding  and  "  huff- 
ing," and  he  tried  to  silence  her  with  a  peck,  or 
by  making  ostentatious  preparations  for  a  nap, 
in  which  curious  way  many  birds  show  con- 
tempt. But  she  did  not  often  sing  at  home. 
She  preferred  a  perch  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  where  she  sat  down,  her  breast  feathers 
covering  her  toes,  threw  her  head  up,  and  turned 
it  from  side  to  side  (perhaps  looking  for  the 
enemy  always  ready  to  pounce  upon  her),  as  she 
poured  out  the  pleasing  melody.  Not  a  note  of 
song  came  out  of  his  throat  till  weeks  after- 
wards, when  her  presence  no  longer  disturbed 
him,  and  spring  came  to  stir  even  his  hard 
heart. 

Matters  culminated,  in  this  ill-assorted  union, 


236  ORIOLE   INCOMPATIBILITY. 

with  a  tragedy.  He  began  a  bully  and  a  scold ; 
and  so  far  from  being  mollified  by  her  gentle- 
ness, his  bad  temper  increased  by  indulgence, 
until  he  absolutely  prevented  her  from  eating, 
bathing,  or  entering  the  cage  when  he  was 
about.  At  this  point  providence  —  in  the  shape 
of  the  mistress  —  interfered,  bought  a  new  cage 
as  big  as  the  old  one,  and,  in  the  summary  way 
in  which  we  of  the  human  family  dispose  of  the 
lives  and  happiness  of  those  we  call  the  lower 
animals,  declared  a  divorce.  This  was  agreeable 
to  the  female,  at  least.  She  entered  her  solitary 
cage  with  joy,  and  ate  to  her  satisfaction,  but 
not  so  well  pleased  was  the  tyrant ;  he  wanted 
an  object  on  which  to  vent  his  ill-humor,  and  it 
grieved  his  selfish  soul  to  see  her  happy,  out  of 
his  reach,  with  table  spread  as  bountifully  as 
his  own.  He  usurped  the  new  cage ;  she  re- 
tired contentedly  to  the  old.  Still  he  was  not 
suited,  for  the  old  one  was  nearer  the  window ; 
so  he  tried  to  occupy  both,  and  drive  her  away 
altogether.  So  outrageous  did  he  become  that 
finally  he  had  to  be  shut  into  one  cage  before 
she  could  enter  the  other.  It  was  curious,  on 
these  occasions,  to  see  the  care  with  which  she 
examined  the  door  of  his  cage,  to  be  sure  that 
he  really  could  not  get  out,  and  the  satisfied  air 
with  which  she  finally  went  home ;  even  then 
she  ate  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  as  it  were, 


A   BAD    TEMPER.  237 

he  raging  from  side  to  side  of  his  cage,  as  near 
to  her  as  he  could  get,  and  scolding  furiously. 
This  could  not  go  on  forever,  and  the  most 
watchful  care  was  not  able  always  to  protect 
her  without  making  prisoner  of  one.  It  was 
the  middle  of  winter,  and  she  could  not  be  set 
free  ;  but  if  I  had  suspected  how  far  his  tyranny 
would  go,  I  should  have  removed  one  of  them 
to  another  room.  To  my  deep  sorrow,  I  found 
her  dead  one  morning,  and  her  body  so  thin  I 
was  sure  she  had  been  worried  to  death. 

Naturally,  I  did  not  love  the  brutal  bird  who 
had  teased  another  out  of  her  life,  but  I  cer- 
tainly looked  for  an  improvement  in  his  temper 
now  that  he  had  no  one  to  vex  his  sight.  I 
looked  in  vain.  He  was  more  savage,  more  of 
a  tramp  and  poacher,  more  of  a  scold,  than  ever. 
He  even  went  so  far  as  to  huff  at  the  sparrows 
outside  the  window.  He  never  entered  into  the 
feelings  of  his  neighbors  in  any  way ;  when 
every  other  bird  in  the  room  was  excited, 
alarmed,  or  disturbed,  he  alone  remained  per- 
fectly unconcerned,  exactly  as  if  he  did  not  see 
them. 

During  the  latter  part  of  that  winter  I  was 
interested  to  see  a  curious  provision  of  nature 
for  an  emergency.  The  oriole  had  a  serious 
affection  of  one  hind  toe,  which  swelled,  turned 
white,  and  was  evidently  so  painful  to  use  that 


238  ORIOLE   INCOMPATIBILITY. 

he  alighted  on  the  other  foot,  holding  this  one 
up.  After  a  few  days  I  noticed  him  using  his 
foot  again ;  there  was  a  hind  toe  all  well,  and 
the  disabled  one  above  the  new  one,  quite  out 
of  harm's  way.  It  looked  as  if  it  were  going  to 
fall  off,  and  I  did  not  know  but  the  universal 
Mother  had  provided  a  new  toe  ;  but  on  close 
examination  I  found  that  one  of  the  three  front 
toes  had  turned  back  to  take  the  place  of  the 
useless  member.  Thus  relieved,  it  became  well, 
the  front  toe  returned  to  its  proper  place,  and 
the  bird  was  all  right  again. 

Now  spring  came  on,  and  the  oriole  began  to 
sing,  strange,  half-choking  sounds  at  first,  inter- 
spersed with  his  harshest  notes,  as  if  he  were 
forced  to  sing  by  the  season,  but  was  resolved 
that  no  one  should  enjoy  it  as  music,  and  so 
spoiled  it  by  these  interpolations.  I  found  after- 
wards, however,  on  Studying  his  wild  relatives, 
that  this  is  their  customary  way  of  singing.  Now, 
too,  queer  little  spots  began  to  appear  in  his 
plumage,  dots  of  bright  reddish  chestnut,  first 
on  one  side  of  the  breast,  then  about  the  tail 
coverts,  till  after  a  month  he  looked  like  patch- 
work of  the  "crazy"  sort.  All  this  time  his 
song  was  gaining  in  strength  and  volume,  till 
by  the  first  of  May  he  could  outsing  any  bird  in 
the  room. 

To  outdo  in  some  way  was  his  delight,  and  he 


UTTERLY    UNLOVELY.  239 

regularly  discomfited  the  singers  and  silenced 
the  gentle  ripple  of  thrush  music  in  the  house  by 
his  loud  carol.  Later,  the  weather  became  set- 
tled, the  well  and  perfect  birds  were  given  their 
liberty,  and  he  had  the  bird-room  to  himself,  the 
only  utterly  unlovely  bird  I  ever  knew. 

The  relations  of  a  pair  of  Baltimore  orioles 
at  the  same  time  were  not  much  more  harmo- 
nious ;  but  the  little  dame  being  more  spirited 
than  her  neighbor,  things  arranged  themselves 
differently. 

I  introduced  the  pair  by  the  rather  summary 
process  of  putting  both  into  one  large  cage.  She 
had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  mankind,  and  her 
plumage  was  in  a  terribly  draggled  state ;  and 
clothes  have  as  much  to  do  with  self-respect  in 
the  feathered  world  as  in  our  own.  Her  condi- 
tion of  general  wreck  was  so  complete  as  to  leave 
her  without  a  tail,  —  the  last  stage  of  respecta- 
bility. She  was  depressed  in  spirits,  and  at  first 
did  not  gainsay  the  dictation  of  the  bird  already 
in  possession.  He  drove  her  away  from  the 
food-dishes,  denied  her  a  place  on  his  perch,  and 
in  fact  set  up  for  lord  and  master,  and  she  sub- 
mitted for  a  time. 

It  was  amusing  to  see  these  birds  trying,  on 
the  first  evening,  to  settle  the  question  of  sleep- 
ing-quarters. As  usual,  the  mind  of  the  male 
was  made  up,  and  he  planted  himself  in  the 


240  ORIOLE   INCOMPATIBILITY. 

darkest  corner  of  the  upper  perch  away  from 
the  window,  shook  himself  out,  and  considered 
the  matter  decided.  The  meek  little  new-comer 
did  not  aspire  to  his  corner,  but  she  ardently 
desired  a  place  on  that  farther  perch,  and  after 
he  became  quiet  she  resolved  to  try  for  it.  Too 
modest  to  approach  it  in  the  natural  way,  from 
the  lower  perches,  she  scrambled  up  the  wires  of 
the  cage,  and  shyly  came  on  from  the  back.  The 
autocrat  was  not  asleep,  and  the  instant  her  foot 
touched  it  he  bounced  across  the  cage  to  the 
other  upper  perch.  He  evidently  expected  that 
she  would  be  put  to  shame  in  her  surreptitious 
attempt  to  share  his  perch,  and  would  at  once 
retire  to  her  proper  sphere  ;  but  he  was  mistaken. 
So  far  from  being  embarrassed  by  his  displeas- 
ure, she  calmly  accepted  the  relinquished  posi- 
tion, and  prepared  for  sleep.  This  was  far  from 
satisfactory  to  his  majesty,  and  he  jumped  back 
as  suddenly  as  he  had  gone  ;  whereupon  madam 
dropped  to  the  floor.  But,  with  true  oriole  per- 
sistence, in  a  moment  she  tried  it  again,  going  as 
before  up  the  wires.  Again  the  annoyed  oriole 
deserted  his  post,  and,  disappointed  in  the  effect, 
returned;  once  more,  also,  rather  disconcerted, 
she  descended  to  the  floor.  Not  to  stay,  how- 
ever. She  was  as  set  in  her  way  as  he  was,  and 
to  sleep  in  that  corner  was  her  determination. 
This  curious  seesaw  performance  was  reenacted 


SHE  REBELLED.  241 

far  into  the  twilight  with  amusing  regularity,  but 
how  they  finally  settled  it  I  could  not  stay  to  see. 

The  unfortunate  condition  of  the  female  kept 
her  in  subjection  a  few  days,  and  then  she  rose 
superior  to  clothes,  and  quietly  rebelled.  The 
possession  of  the  bath  was  the  first  disputed 
point.  There  she  took  her  stand,  bowed  and 
postured  on  the  edge,  while  he  splashed  uncon- 
cernedly in  the  tub  ;  and  the  next  time  she  went 
so  far  as  to  remain  in  the  water  and  keep  on 
bathing,  while  he  assumed  the  offensive  on  the 
edge.  After  trying  in  vain  to  awe  or  terrify  her, 
he  actually  plumped  in  beside  her,  and  they  spat- 
tered and  fluttered  side  by  side,  as  if  they  were 
inseparable  friends.  The  oriole,  however,  had 
learned  a  lesson.  He  recognized  a  kindred 
spirit,  and  henceforth  they  lived  peaceably  to- 
gether, in  a  sort  of  armed  neutrality.  No  quar- 
reling disgraced  their  house  ;  each  went  on  in 
his  own  way,  and  the  other  did  not  interfere. 

One  had  no  right  to  expect  sociability  be- 
tween a  pair  living  in  mere  tolerance  of  each 
other,  and  yet  I  was  disappointed  that  they  did 
not  talk  together.  I  wanted  to  hear  them,  but 
I  listened  in  vain  for  weeks.  In  sight  or  out  of 
sight,  it  made  no  difference  ;  they  were  the  same 
taciturn  couple,  each  occupied  in  its  own  way, 
and  never  exchanging  a  note.  But  at  last  I 
caught  them.  At  night,  during  the  winter,  each 


242  ORIOLE   INCOMPATIBILITY. 

cage  was  closely  wrapped  in  a  thick,  warm  cover, 
and  before  this  was  taken  off  in  the  morning- 1 
began  to  hear  low  murmurs  from  the  orioles. 
One  spoke  in  a  complaining  tone,  as  if  it  said, 
"  Why  do  you  treat  me  thus  ?  "  and  the  other 
uttered  a  regular  oriole  "  chur-r-r."  In  time  the 
sounds  grew  louder,  and  I  noticed  in  the  queru- 
lous tone  great  variety  of  pitch,  inflection,  and 
duration  of  note,  accompanied  often  by  a  hop- 
ping back  and  forth,  as  if  the  listener  were  in- 
attentive. Wishing  to  see  as  well  as  hear  this 
little  domestic  drama,  I  took  care  the  next  night 
to  arrange  the  covering  in  such  a  way  that  I 
could  peep  in  without  disturbing  it.  Then  I  saw 
the  lordly  Baltimore  on  the  middle  perch,  lean- 
ing over  and  looking  at  his  mate  on  the  floor. 
He  addressed  her  in  a  tone  so  low  that  it  was 
scarcely  audible  at  the  distance  of  one  foot,  and 
she  replied  in  the  fretful  voice  I  have  spoken  of. 
Then  he  began  hopping  from  perch  to  perch, 
occasionally  pausing  to  take  his  part  in  the  con- 
versation, which  was  kept  up  till  they  saw  me. 

Not  all  the  time  of  the  beautiful  orioles  was 
passed  in  contentions ;  once  having  placed  them- 
selves on  what  they  considered  their  proper 
footing  in  the  family,  they  had  leisure  for  other 
things.  No  more  entertaining  birds  ever  lived 
in  the  room  ;  full  of  intelligent  curiosity  as  they 
were,  and  industriously  studying  out  the  idio- 


A  NEW  SONG.  243 

syncrasies  of  human  surroundings  in  ways  pe- 
culiarly their  own,  they  pried  into  and  under 
everything,  —  opened  the  match-safe  and  threw 
out  the  contents,  tore  the  paper  off  the  wall  in 
great  patches,  pecked  the  backs  of  books,  and 
probed  every  hole  and  crack  with  their  sharp 
beaks.  They  ate  very  daintily,  and  were  ex- 
ceedingly fond  of  dried  currants.  For  this  little 
treat  the  male  soon  learned  to  tease,  alighting 
on  the  desk,  looking  wistfully  at  the  little  china 
box  whence  he  knew  they  came,  wiping  his  bill, 
and,  in  language  plain  enough  to  a  bird-student, 
asking  for  some.  He  even  went  so  far,  when  I 
did  not  at  once  take  the  hint,  as  to  address  me 
in  low,  coaxing  talk  of  very  sweet  and  varied 
tones.  Still  I  was  deaf,  and  he  came  within 
two  feet  of  me,  uttering  the  half-singing  talk, 
and  later  burst  into  song  as  his  supreme  effort 
at  pleasing  or  propitiating  the  dispenser  of 
dainties.  I  need  not  say  that  he  had  his  fill 
after  that. 

On  the  24th  of  April  spring  emotions  began 
to  work  in  the  oriole  family.  The  first  symp- 
tom was  a  song,  so  low  it  was  scarcely  heard, 
though  the  agitation  of  the  singer,  with  head 
thrown  up  and  tail  quivering,  was  plainly  enough 
seen.  As  it  grew  in  volume  from  day  to  day, 
it  proved  to  be  totally  different  from  the  beauti- 
ful oriole  strain  of  four  or  six  notes,  so  familiar 


244  ORIOLE   INCOMPATIBILITY. 

during  the  nesting  season.  It  was  a  long-con- 
tinued melody,  of  considerable  variety,  with  an 
occasional  interpolation  of  the  common  scolding 
"  chur-r-r."  After  about  a  month  of  this  lovely 
chant,  the  usual  June  carol  was  added,  and  from 
this  time  he  sang  the  two.  Both  birds  also 
treated  us  to  the  several  calls  we  are  accustomed 
to  hear  in  the  orchard  in  that  perfect  month. 

Shortly  following  the  beginning  of  the  second 
and  more  familiar  song,  a  change  appeared  in 
the  relations  of  the  pair.  The  male  assumed 
the  aggressive,  and  became  rather  violent  in  his 
attentions.  He  drove  his  mate  around  the  room, 
and  when  he  cornered  her  they  indulged  in  what 
must  be  called  a  "  clawing  match,"  upon  which 
he  flew  away  with  a  loud  song,  as  though  he  had 
won  a  victory.  When  this  performance  had 
gone  on  a  few  days,  she  began  to  show  a  disin- 
clination to  go  home,  took  possession  of  another 
cage  whose  owner  was  amiable,  and  finally 
turned  upon  her  rough  wooer,  as  I  suppose  he 
must  be  named ;  though  if  I  had  not  seen  a  simi- 
lar style  of  courtship  among  the  orchard  orioles 
I  should  hesitate  to  give  it  that  name.  One 
morning  she  rose  in  her  might  to  put  an  end  to 
all  this  persecution,  and  I  saw  her  on  the  war- 
path, pursuing  him  with  open  beak ;  but  after 
fleeing  a  moment,  he  turned  and  flung  himself 
upon  her  so  savagely  that  both  flew  violently 


FREE   AT  LAST.  245 

against  the  window,  which  they  had  not  touched 
for  months,  being  perfectly  aware  of  the  obstacle 
there.  However,  he  changed  his  manners,  and 
I  heard  much  low,  sweet  talk  in  the  cage,  such 
as  he  had  used  to  coax  me  for  currants.  She 
listened,  but  said  nothing.  I  neglected  to  say 
that  meanwhile  she  had  replaced  her  scraggy 
feathers  and  grown  a  fine  tail. 

Another  time  I  saw  the  two  orioles  on  top  of 
a  cage,  six  or  eight  inches  apart.  First  she 
stretched  up  and  faced  him,  uttering  a  peculiar 
ciy,  a  single  note  of  rich  but  mournful  tone,  and 
then  she  bowed  again  and  again,  constantly  re- 
peating the  call.  He  posed,  turned  this  way  and 
that,  evidently  aching  to  fly  at  her.  At  last  she 
flew,  and  he  followed  to  another  cage,  where  the 
'performance  was  repeated.  Then  came  a  mad 
chase  around  the  room,  which  she  ended  by  slip- 
ping behind  a  large  cage. 

For  some  days  these  scenes  were  frequent, 
and  I  began  to  feel  myself  a  jailer ;  so  one 
morning  they  were  carried  to  the  country,  where 
sparrows  would  not  mob  them,  and  set  at  liberty 
to  pursue  their  wooing,  if  such  it  were,  in  free- 
dom. 


INDEX. 


Arkansas  goldfinch,  185. 

Black-throated  green  warbler,  26, 

28,29. 

Bluebird,  173. 
Blue  jay,  216. 
Bobolink,  30. 
Brazilian  cardinal,  214. 

Catbird,  153,  158. 
Cats,  197. 
Chebec,  6,  621. 
Chewink,  159,  180-184. 
Chipmunk,  13. 
Chipping  sparrow,  86. 
Clarin,  205-220,  226. 
Cowbird,  22. 
Crow,  6,  156,  166. 
Cuckoo,  62,  64,  65. 

Eave  swallow,  32, 175. 
English  sparrow,  200. 

Fox  barking,  15. 

Golden-winged  woodpecker,  18,  49, 
164. 

Hermit  thrush,  6,  8,  9,  10,  21,  22, 

202. 
House  wren,  30,  49,  189. 

Junco,  201. 

Least  flycatcher,  61,  62. 

Maryland  yellow-throat,  142-147. 
Meadow  lark,  31,  34. 


Meadow  lark,  western,  191. 
Mountain  whistler,  220-226. 

Night  hawk,  200. 

Olive-sided  flycatcher,  7,  11,  14-18. 
Oriole,  Baltimore,  50,  150-153,  229- 

245. 

Oriole,  orchard,  227-239. 
Oven-bird,  7. 

Phoebe,  33,  34,  174. 

Red-eyed  vireo,  6,  155. 
Red-headed  woodpecker,  35. 
Red-shafted  woodpecker,  189. 
Red-winged  blackbird,  165-173. 
Robin,  29,  30. 

Rose-breasted  grosbeak,  18,  19. 
Ruby-throated  hummingbird,  103- 
140,225. 

Sandpiper,  6,  164. 
Shrike,  29,  35-60,  66-71. 
Solitaire,  205-220,  226. 
Song  sparrow,  30. 
Summer  yellow-bird,  179. 

Thrasher,  147-149,  201. 
Towhee  bunting,  159, 180-184. 
Townsend's    fly -catching     thruhli, 

226. 

Tree  swallows,  175. 
Trembleur,  224. 

Veery,  7,  27,  167. 
Vesper  sparrow,  174. 


Ill 

JUKI 

A    000870182    3 


